


wings to break your fall

by karamelised



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Dom/sub Undertones, Face-Sitting, Facials, Fluff, Hand Jobs, I am also going to mention miscommunication now because I know how people feel about it, I failed, I just reread the tags, I think they actually talk plenty, I tried to write as little sex as possible, M/M, Mirror Sex, Porn With Plot, Secret Relationship, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, Teasing, Wing Kink, also in the future when I get the notion to write a long fic, and it's really harry's miscommunication with his own mind, please remind me not to, sometimes the porn is the plot, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 102,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karamelised/pseuds/karamelised
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“I’m glad you like my clothes,” Harry whispers, sliding his arms further along the couch until he’s speaking directly into Louis’ ear. “Would you like me to take them off?”</em>
</p><p>or</p><p>strip club AU. Harry’s work and family are keeping him busy. He really isn’t looking for a relationship, doesn’t want one. He just wants Louis. Problem is, Louis has other plans.</p><p>Featuring: spilled drinks, meddling mums, accidental insults, a pivotal plot point masquerading as a private dance, Harry with wings, slow morning sex, a secret relationship, and tea that fixes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> -> [tumblr post](http://karamelised.tumblr.com/post/142642699577/fic-wings-to-break-your-fall-written-by)
> 
> Okay, so this was, for many many months the 'stripper au', which has to be the most misleading title ever but sometimes and idea strikes and then it morphs into something completely different.
> 
> I was really fortunate to work together with the amazingly talented Elena ([lifeimitateszart](http://lifeimitateszart.tumblr.com/)) on this one. Elena I've known you for such a long time now and you're an amazing person to call my friend, your artwork always takes my breath away, I love you <3  
> Go check out and reblog her art [here](http://lifeimitateszart.tumblr.com/tagged/stripperau)! 
> 
> **Please note that the artwork in chapter 3 is NSFW!**  
>     
> All my love to my betas on this, along with anyone who gave me any feedback. It's far more appreciated than you think, thank you so so much <3
> 
> [Dell](http://frecklebombfic.tumblr.com/), you are amazingly patient and gentle and kind. Thank you for being such a great help and someone to lean on <3
> 
> [Andy](http://sunshineloueeh.tumblr.com/), you call me out on my bullshit, you make me laugh and you make sense of my weird grammar. Thank you for letting me rope you into this <3
> 
> [Zoë](http://happilysunlight.tumblr.com/), you are always there when I need help, often when I need it at the very last second, thank you so much <3
> 
> I spent more time on this than my final thesis at Uni and yet I'm still not happy with all the character's motivations in this fic. I might revisit it one day, but most likely will just apply what I learned in the next fic.  
> I still hope it’s enjoyable <3

Traces of glitter from last night still linger on his face. It has migrated from his eyes to his cheeks and all the scrubbing in the world won't remove it.

Harry knows, because that’s what he’s been doing for the last five minutes and now he'll have to go back outside and join the wedding celebrations with a scrubbed-red face. He sighs and smoothes down his suit. He hasn't worn one this boring in ages, hasn't got much time for suits altogether lately.

But his mum had insisted and she's one of the few people he would actually change his outfit for on request. He'd put his foot down about the tie and unbuttoned the white linen shirt's top three buttons.

And still it feels like it's constricting his airflow.

"Get it together," he tells his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There's a stubborn strand of hair that keeps falling out of his bun and he's given up on it, told it to do whatever it wanted because he'd stopped caring. That hadn't helped, but it did make him feel better.

A guy comes in and Harry checks him out almost as an afterthought. He's kind of tiny, which catches his attention first, the twinkle in his eye and slight smirk hold it. He's pretty and twinky and those blue eyes would go over a treat with the club's customers.

"Hey," he says. "I'm Harry." It's a split-second decision to talk to him, even if his intentions are a bit... unconventional. But his life is finally back on track, his mum invited to this high-profile event and even Gemma is finally doing better. All he needs is for the club to run smoothly, and then maybe, maybe he can catch a breath.

Being chatted up in the loo only throws the pretty guy for a second before he recovers and smiles winningly. "I'm, uhm, Jason."

Harry leans back against the sink and gives him a slow once-over. Jason doesn't seem to mind, just flicks his blond hair out of his face and stares right back. Harry tries to tamp down on his excitement. "Good to meet you. Wanna dance once you're done here?"

"I have to warn you," Jason says and yes, he's flirting, sauntering towards him and selling it, which Harry feels isn't easy in this setting. "I've been taking some form of dancing lessons all my life."

Harry smiles wider because yes, that's exactly what he wants to hear. "I'll look for you on the dancefloor, then," he tells him with a wink before heading back outside.

The wedding party is quite large so it takes him a moment to find his mum. "You still look lovely," he tells her, nodding down at her light blue dress.

He knows it's not the one she'd actually wanted to buy, a cheaper knock-off version she's had altered. They aren't really struggling, not since the club has really taken off, but there's a difference between having enough money to get by comfortably and living off a trust fund with enough return on interest to keep you satisfied. At the rate he’s going he might be able to offer that second option to his kids, one day, but it’s certainly never been a reality for him.

"Thank you darling, you look dashing yourself."

He gives her a kiss on the cheek and squeezes her hand because she's doing just fine, really does look lovely, expensive dress or not. In fact, she fits right in. The decor has a lovely white and purple colour scheme, with artfully draped fabric streamers lending the high ceilings a more cozy atmosphere, the fairy lights lining the gauzy material making it downright magical.

They'd made quite the splash on the social scene when almost the entire clan had relocated to London recently. According to his sister, the who’s who of London had been frantic about it for weeks. It’s not every day that one of the wealthiest families in Britain decides to change their home base like this.

And this is their first big event as well as their eldest daughter's wedding, the first one to get hitched in this generation, so Harry understands the planning had been that much stricter. Either way, the whole thing is rather impressive in its understated exclusivity and attention to detail.

They usually don't have access to the type of high society in attendance here, but his mum and Jay, the mother of the bride, used to be close ever since being next-door-neighbours back in Manchester. They might have lost touch over the years, but Jay somehow found his mum's number and invited her.

Now, it can be argued that they'd needed to fill the rows in a new town where the intricate social hierarchy was still a closed book to them, but Harry tries to stay away from thoughts like that on principle.

And anyway, his mum is radiant, excited to be part of the upper crust, even if it's just for tonight. He dances with her for several songs before a guy cuts in, his mum's eyelashes fluttering more than is really necessary.

He grabs a virgin drink from the bar and is almost finished with it when his little acquaintance from the loo reappears.

"Jason." He nods at the guy while putting his drink down. He looks even better out here, with more light glinting off his golden hair and tanned skin. It’s… well, it’s a rather appealing picture.

Harry reminds himself that between managing the club and being there for his mum and Gemma, he simply doesn't have the time for a boyfriend right now. A one-night stand would theoretically be an option, Jason is just his type, but Harry makes it a rule not to sleep with people from work, even if it’s just a vague prospect at this stage.

"Still up for that dance?"

Harry scans the room quickly, wonders if they'll scandalise London's finest, or if they wouldn't care about two guys dancing. Praying this won't get his mum booted out before she's even really in, he holds out his hand and leads Jason to the dancefloor.

Jason goes easily, eagerly and without a care in the world. The reason for that becomes apparent right away, because as it turns out, Jason can move.

His body is subtle and graceful, easily letting Harry lead him around the dancefloor, hips and eyes enticing.

"D'you dance anything faster?"

"I do," Jason laughs, sliding a hand down Harry's chest. He leans up and in flirty tones whispers, "used to do a bit of go-go dancing."

Harry clutches him close, because this couldn't have turned out more perfect if he'd tried. Now he just needs to suss out if Jason would be swayed more by money or prestige and then he'll make him an offer he hopefully can't refuse.

They dance for two more songs, a live band that is actually pretty good supplying them with the music. Some of the other wedding guests are staring, a flash of disgust on one or two faces.

Harry frowns, honestly stumped by how there are still people scandalised by the idea of being interested in someone with the same bits as you. Like that is any way to classify people. His club is very particular in its patronage, meaning it caters mostly to gay guys. Homophobes hardly ever make it past the front door and definitely leave when they hear the prices for getting into the club proper. So he's thrown by even this muted show of homophobia. It doesn't bother him as such, merely serves as a reminder that reality doesn't stop outside his little bubble.

He concentrates back on Jason, on the way he can feel his back muscles move under his hand, how he's light on his feet, letting Harry lead with the subtlest of touches. He might very well be holding the proverbial golden goose in his hands right now and he doesn't want to overplay it, so he murmurs, "why'd you stop with the go-go dancing?"

Jason shrugs easily. "Moved to London and had to take the first job I was offered."

"Thought everyone here lived off of trust funds." He carefully maneuvers them past a younger couple, more flailing than dancing, and focuses on Jason when they're in a less populated corner of the dance floor. "Or did you hit it big?"

Jason gives him a confused little frown. "Like, I don't want to shock you and stuff, but you do know I'm a waiter here, right?"

Harry looks at him, at his black trousers and white shirt. Sure, he's seen guys and girls with trays wearing similar stuff, but then half of the other party guests are dressed the same. "Oh. No, I didn't." It doesn’t matter to him, probably just makes it easier when he offers Jason a job. Politely he asks, "am I keeping you from your work?"

Jason laughs and it's infectious, Harry grinning down at him almost immediately.

"It's fine," he says easily as Harry twirls them down one side of the dance floor. "I was basically fired before this job, but this guy got sick so they called me. I hate temp work. Pay was good though."

"Well, then I hope you're enjoying your dance before you get kicked out for good." He smiles cheekily just to make sure Jason knows he's teasing.

"Yeah, you're hilarious," Jason says, poking his chest. "You're not the one who will lose the crappy little apartment you finally managed to snag because you won't be able to pay the rent. Very much unlike me."

"About that," Harry says smoothly, slowing down and sliding his hand down Jason's back when the music changes, slows. He pulls him closer. "I think I might be able to help you there."

"Yeah," Jason asks, all coy. It's cute in its transparency. "Gonna be my sugar daddy?"

Harry honks a loud laugh, all the eyes that had finally stopped staring back on them again. "Yeah, no. That's not going to happen."

Jason shrugs easily and snuggles closer. "Worth a try."

"I can get you an interview though. High end place, and the pay is good."

"Yeah?"

Harry nods. "And when I say good, I mean excellent. Several hundred a night and that's at the beginning. Our best guy makes around five hundred in tips alone. Each night he works."

Jason sighs. "That sounds fun but if this involves sex with guys for money -- or heaven forbid with girls, then I'm out. I mean it's just not for me, you know?"

He's taking this far better than Harry expected. Most guys don't even hear him out. "There's absolutely no sex involved. In fact, we have a very strict no touching rule."

"What is this place, like a strip club?"

Harry braces himself. "Exactly like a strip club, yes."

"Hmm," is all he gets as a response.

He waits a bit before asking, "are you okay?"

"What? Oh yeah, just thinking. Is it full nudity?"

Harry's heart lifts, because that's not a no. They've been short on dancers for weeks now and it's grating on everyone. Convincing Jason would go a long way to calm the few remaining worries he has in regards to the club. He tries to gather his thoughts and give a cohesive answer. "No. Not on the main stage and general area. We do have private rooms but it's not compulsory. So unless the angel -- uhm, that's what our dancers are called -- wants to, the last bit stays on. Most don't go completely nude."

Jason is silent again, nodding to himself. "So I'd have to impress your boss and if they like me, I'm in? Or how does this work?"

"Well," Harry frowns, knows he's mucking this up. "You'd come to the club and dance for the staff. The other angels know what the clients like, they're the best judges. If they do like you -- and I think they will because I've been dancing with you for a while now and I can tell when someone knows what they're doing, you know --"

"Bit of a different kind of dance though," Jason interrupts.

"Well yes. But being able to move your body is half the rent. The other is that exhibitionist tendency you definitely have."

"Oh I do, do I?"

Harry laughs again, leads him off the dancefloor with that hand still low on his back. "Yes. That's why you've been flirting with me all this time."

Jason pouts. "I was trying not to be obvious." He turns to face Harry and pulls him closer by his waistband. "Wouldn't mind giving it a try."

Harry laughs and shakes his head. "We might end up working at the same place, that alone is reason enough not to."

"Oh fine," Jason says, walking his fingers up Harry's stomach. "Tell me more about how to get this well-paying job then."

"Well the other angels would decide and then you'd start out with the smaller stuff, like serving drinks, pretty much what you're doing here now."

"Only I'd be wearing less."

"Well, yes," Harry says, can't really place Jason's expression. "You'd also get wings."

Now Jason perks up. "Wings?"

"Yeah, it ties in with the whole angel theme? All our dancers wear wings."

"Wait! Are we talking about Halo? The fucking high end club you only hear whispers about? Like no one will tell you what's going on in there, but they make sure to let you know it's debauchery at its finest?"

Harry preens, just a bit. It's good to know the marketing strategy has clearly paid off. "Yes?"

"Fucking shit you should have said! Sign me up, where do I go, how do I dance and what do I wear?"

Jason's eagerness is a bit unsettling. After all, the responses he usually gets when he just freely approaches guys like this come from the exact opposite end of the spectrum.

They hash out the details and Harry just hands over a white business card with golden writing, plain except for the outline of wings, when his mum interrupts them.

She smiles warmly at Jason and after quick introductions she turns to Harry. "Darling, can I steal you away for just a second? I want you to meet Jay."

He says a quick goodbye to Jason and waits just long enough until he promises to call before following her. He's in a good mood now, hadn't really expected to find someone with so much potential at a high class wedding of all places, had in fact planned to launch another round of interviews soon. He hates the interviewing process.

He smiles to himself, happy to call this day a success and be done with it.

His mum leads him to where the mother of the bride is just grabbing a glass of champagne off a nearby waiter's tray, and manages a quick introduction before she’s being whisked away for another dance.

“Oh look at you, darling,” Jay says while brushing down the front of his shirt. “You look fantastic! All grown up."

"Thank you, Mrs. Deakin,” he replies before nodding vaguely at their surroundings. “This is a lovely wedding, your daughter must be so happy."

"Oh please, call me Jay." She smiles at him warmly and takes another sip of her drink. "So," she starts with a twinkle in her eye, like scheming mothers everywhere. "How have you been? The last time I saw you, you were five years old and following Louis around like a little duckling."

"Oh," Harry says, on a startled laugh. "I don't even remember that."

She nods happily. "Inseparable, the two of you, from the moment you were born. Even after we moved, Louis wouldn't stop nagging me about a brother, how all his sisters were boring."

"I knew he only ever pretended to love us," comes another voice. It's Lottie, the bride. She looks stunning, Harry thinks, radiant and happy, a slight flush to her cheeks after just coming off the dance floor herself.

He congratulates her again, assuring her it's a beautiful wedding.

She nods amiably before asking bluntly, "so. Are you gay?"

"Lotts!" her mum chastises her. "Honestly dear. And on your wedding, too."

Lottie just shrugs, clearly used to her mum's outrage. "It's just a question. Like you weren't digging before I joined, honestly."

Harry interrupts Jay, who was clearly about to protest, with an easy shrug. "I am, yes."

Lottie nods like she knew all along. Weirdly enough, Jay doesn't change the subject like he’d expected. Her eyes sharpen. "Are you single?"

"Uhm," he says, looking around. Maybe he can subtly flag down his own mum, give her their secret signal so she'll come to the rescue. "Yes?"

"Louis!" Jay shouts, causing Lottie to flinch and cover her ears.

"Jeez mum, some warning would be nice."

"Hush you, you're already married. I don't have to worry about you."

Lottie rolls her eyes. "You should run," she tells him conversationally. At his blank look she elaborates, "ever since she set me up on a date with my fiancé -- oh shit, husband now I keep forgetting -- she thinks she's some kind of gifted matchmaker."

Jay smacks Lottie's arm. "Will you be quiet, child. You know as well as I do that Louis needs all the help he can get." She looks around, shouting for her son again. "Honestly, where is the boy?"

Harry's eyebrows climb up at that. He hadn't been lying when he'd mentioned his complete lack of recollection in regards to Louis. If he really strains, he gets a vague memory of bright blue eyes and a cheeky grin. But if Louis needs this much help getting a date, he might not have grown up very well.

Harry's already thinking up excuses -- maybe he can pretend he misunderstood her question about being single? Jason is somewhere over by the bar, he'll just have to pretend to be his boyfriend for the night -- when exactly his type of guy gets pushed into their little circle.

"Jeez, Phoebs. Watch the jacket, will ya?"

Phoebs, who looks suspiciously like yet another family member, rolls her eyes dramatically before flouncing off.

Jay immediately begins straightening the guy's jacket. "Look darling, this is Harry Styles, remember him? He used to follow you around." Against her own instructions, she pats down his tie next, not giving him a chance to turn around, instead gifting Harry with a view of the back of his head. "Harry dear, this is Louis. He's gay and single too, isn't that a coincidence?"

"Oh my god, mum, could you be any more embarrassing," Louis whines, cupping his face like he's hiding his shame. He peeks at her. "Please stop, okay? Just because we're both gay does not mean we have anything even remotely in common. Don't try to set me up." Despite his aggravated tone, he removes his mum's hands with care and turns around. There’s the merest moment, just a split second, when they both just stare. Then Louis seems to remember himself. "Hi Harry, I'm Louis. And I'm very sorry about all this."

Harry nods dumbly. Reaching out to catch Louis' outstretched hand in his own, he tries to ignore the soaring feeling in his stomach when their palms brush.

Louis doesn’t seem to have the same experience. He keeps the handshake perfunctory at best, making it clear he'd love to be anywhere but here.

Harry frowns.

He's got a large circle of friends and plenty of people interested in him. It’s not even arrogant, it’s just a fact. He’s charming, funny and good-looking. Being handled so dismissively, well, it rankles. Louis is bloody fit, but Harry isn't chopped liver himself. No need for Louis to be quite this dismissive.

Regardless of Louis' feelings though, Jay seems hellbent on creating some sparks. With her left hand she holds her son in place while turning to address Harry directly. "What do you do, Harry?"

Any thoughts of Louis showing him the cold shoulder fly out the window and Harry's smile freezes, just a little, before he manages to catch himself. It's not the first time he's had to skirt around the issue and it won't be the last. "I'm uhm, self-employed."

Louis' mum nods sagely and pats his arm. "That's alright dear, I'm sure you're trying your best."

Her vaguely condescending answer is his own fault, so he can't really blame her. But it still stings, because he knows people's perception of him are warped when he's this vague. And it's not even that his current job doesn't pay well, because it really does. But telling the truth, actually saying the words strip club, would overshadow the self-employment comment by far. 

Thankfully people keep interrupting their little group, congratulating the bride and her family and the conversation quickly steers away from employment talk towards the apparently endless world of flower arrangements and wedding dresses.

Harry watches Louis mostly, the way people, not only his family, wait for his input regardless of subject matter, like he’s an integral part of their personal universe. A long wisp of fringe keeps falling into his eyes, hiding the crinkling laugh lines until deft little fingers push it back in irritation.

"So," Louis says when he finally gets a moment, his tone completely unreadable. "I see you took a shine to one of the waiters? That was quite the show."

"Oh, yeah," Harry says, rubbing the back of his neck. "To be fair, I had no idea he was working. Hope he isn't in too much trouble?"

Louis shrugs and Harry can't help but trace the line of his cheekbones with his eyes. Louis is stunning, absolutely gorgeous in a way he hasn't seen in a long time.

"Apart from being the topic du jour? I doubt it. This isn't the 1930's, nowadays we like to gossip about everyone equally, no matter who they take to bed."

Harry grabs two glasses off a passing waiter's tray and holds one out to Louis. Their fingers brush and Harry scowls at the complete lack of reaction from Louis and decides to try playing a bit more aggressively.

"So," he starts, dragging the word out until he's got Louis' attention. "Do you secretly have a boyfriend stashed away somewhere and you've just neglected to tell your mum about it?"

Louis smiles ruefully, the corners of his eyes forming more lines yet. "Nah. I tell my mum everything, really. Just haven't had much luck recently."

"Well then I hope that changes for you, soon."

Harry had meant it as a lighthearted, flirty comment, but Louis gives him a dubious look before changing the subject. "What about you, then? Any chance of a future with the waiter?"

Harry would rather chop off his own leg than date someone he might work with very soon. Of course he can't really tell Louis that, so he opts for a nonchalant shrug instead. That strand of his own hair falls into his face and he genuinely thinks about redoing his bun. "No." He tucks it behind his ear instead. "I'm on a sabbatical. No more boyfriends for me."

Louis laughs and Harry wonders if Louis is maybe a bit slow on the uptake when he says, "that's some weird sabbatical, then. I mean you are flirting with me."

Harry still smiles, will take the opening. "You are exceptionally pretty."

"Thanks, I guess," Louis replies. He sounds unimpressed. "But I'm definitely not the person you're looking for. Because I'm on a sabbatical of sorts, too. Only I have promised myself no more meaningless one-night stands. Do you see the problem?"

Harry smirks and gives Louis one slow once-over, taking in the perfect fit of his suit over his slight curves, the way he's got his hip cocked like this conversation is a prelude to war. "Don't see a single problem, no."

Louis actually rolls his eyes at that, like it’s a family trait or something. "Wow. That was bad. I'm surprised those lines work for you."

"I'm rather pretty myself. That usually helps."

"Yeah," Louis says flatly. "And so modest, too."

Harry pouts. It isn't often that his honest, aww-shucks flirting gets shut down like this. According to Niall it's because he's just too charming for his own good. Either way, Louis seems unimpressed and it irks him, makes him want Louis to like him.

An elderly couple comes over and talks to Louis then, like they aren't currently in the middle of a conversation. It affords Harry the time to observe Louis in detail some more, watch his hands as he gesticulates -- he's got lovely hands, just a little bit too small for him -- the way his face lights up with genuine joy when they ask about one of his charities.

By the time they leave, Harry's mind is made up. He's willing to break his self-imposed rules, just for Louis.

Harry is just about to launch another wave of flirting -- or a wave of honesty, whatever works, when a loud shout interrupts them. Two women, both Harry knows all too well, are standing close to the exit, having what can politely be described as a lively discussion.

Harry closes his eyes for several beats. It doesn't help because he can still hear the younger woman shout, "I want to go home! I hate it here!"

The other tries to placate her, talking in a soothing, soft voice that doesn't travel.

"Wow," Louis says beside him, an ugly note creeping into his tone. "I mean honestly? This is my sister's wedding and this bint thinks it's alright to get drunk and cause a scene?"

Harry presses his eyes shut again, tries a deep, calming breath. It doesn't work. "Maybe you wanna cut her some slack? She's clearly going through some stuff."

"Yeah," Louis snorts. "All the free booze, for starters. I mean have some class, you know?" He stands on his toes to better look around. "Are they taking her outside? Someone has to be responsible for her, right?"

"That," Harry says in a cool, clipped tone, "would be me. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to help my sister."

He leaves a rather stunned Louis behind, heading to where his mum is still trying to calm Gemma down.

She's having no luck because Gemma gets stubborn as a mule when sloshed, one of the Styles’ less desireable family traits.

"Fucking bastards, that's what men are!"

He nods at his mum and drapes one of Gemma's arms over his shoulder. "I'll take her home," he tells his mum. "You driving with us?"

His mum sighs, suddenly looks well beyond her years. "I think I'll have to do some damage control here. I haven't seen Jay in years, the invite was such a lovely surprise."

Harry nods curtly. He wants to tell his mum not to waste her time with this family, that they don't need them. Louis' comments had stung, Harry's interest in him waning considerably. He makes it a point to never date arseholes, not that he’s actually looking to date anyone right now. But he’d certainly entertained the idea of one night with Louis.

Gemma starts making retching sounds then and he ushers her outside, trying not to stumble under her dead weight.

They're heading down a long hallway, Gemma clearly still contemplating the same subject. "You should really go back to dating girls, H. Maybe I will, too."

"Is this because of Matthew?"

"Fuck him," she whispers angrily, tears filling her eyes. Never one for showing weakness, she continues far more loudly, "manky piece of shit, fucking nutter, that's what he is!"

Harry tries not to wince when nearby heads turn their way.

"Told you he's a dickhead," he mumbles softly. Gemma doesn't hear, stumbles instead and almost takes him down, too. At least it distracts her from another tirade about her on-again, off-again boyfriend, and men in general.

They make it to his car and Harry curses when he remembers he's driven here with the roadster. The sun had glinted off the rooftops and the wind had been minimal. So of course he'd put the top down, enjoying the breeze. Looking at it now, foreboding settles in his stomach.

"If you puke in my car, you're buying me a new one."

Gemma levels an uneven stare at him, swaying heavily. "Fuck you, too. You're such a guy, honestly."

Harry sighs. Resigned to his fate, he carefully straps his sister into her seat.

Afterwards, he has to count himself lucky. Because when she finally does puke, she has enough presence of mind to hang her head over the side of the car.

"You owe me a carwash," he reminds her once she's tucked into bed, eyes slipping shut after a good long cry on his shoulder. He finally leaves after placing a bottle of water on her nightstand and making her promise to call him when she wakes up.

  


+++

  


Doing some paperwork after closing the club turns into Harry being -- rather rudely -- woken up by his phone. It's his mum's ringtone so he accepts the call blearily.

"'Lo?" He winces at the crick in his neck and the roster sheet stuck to his cheek.

"Darling! How's your day?"

His teeth feel fuzzy and he winces when he shifts. Sleeping hunched over on a wooden chair has left his bum rather... delicate. "What time's it?" he mumbles, blinking slowly. The harsh office lights hurt his eyes and the sore neck is quickly morphing into a headache. Great.

"It's -- oh I am so sorry darling. It's almost noon but I forgot you changed your free day to Mondays. Did I wake you?"

"'S okay," he mumbles, rubbing his face. "Just tell me."

"Well...," she says in her 'you're going to love this' voice. "Jay -- Johanna, you know the wedding last weekend?"

"Hard to forget."

"Yes well. Jay just accepted my invitation for a dinner. She told me an apology wasn't necessary, but you know how it is."

Harry groans. If anyone, he definitely knows how people gossip. Especially the ones with lots of free time on their hands due to owning lots of money. Oh yes, he knows all about them, what with those being his clients.

If his mum really wants to climb the social ladder, she'll probably have to do that dinner. The Tomlinsons are a brand name, old money and good ways, that's how Gemma had described it when he’d come over for tea two days ago. He’d maybe done a bit of prying, found out that apart from being ridiculously rich, Louis had also appeared in more than one trashy rag during his early twenties. Decadent parties and picture after picture with him surrounded by pretty guys and girls, all in various states of inebriation or even undress. That image had shifted rather drastically, his face now plastered over charities throughout the entire country.

While he doesn't understand his mother’s reasoning for making a name for herself in the upper circles, or her desire for it, he knows it's important to her. And that makes it important to him. "So a dinner party, okay."

"Well, they're coming over on Saturday. She asked for you, she seems to really like you. You will be there, won't you darling?"

Harry groans and rubs his face some more, looks down at his fingers. They're covered with blue stains. He'd been holding a pen before falling asleep and it must have leaked while he single-handedly destroyed all of his mum's effort for him to sit up straight and watch his posture.

Wonderful, this day is clearly looking up.

"She just likes me because she wants to set me up with her son." He grabs some tissues from the box nearby, wets it with his spit and starts scrubbing his fingers.

"Oh, Louis? Pretty little thing, isn't he? Just your type." He can hear his mum's excited clap. "Oh, that's a wonderful idea honey!"

The tissue is turning darker by the second, but weirdly enough, his fingers aren't getting any cleaner. "Before you plan the wedding, let me just say that he's a dickhead."

"Oh. And you don't date dickheads, yes I know. But are you sure? I mean, don't take this the wrong way baby, but you aren't twenty anymore. And Louis' family is incredibly well off. Jay told me he just bought a loft apartment overlooking the Thames. Bought, honey, not rented."

Harry rolls his eyes. "You sound horribly shallow right now. Also not gonna happen," he says decisively. The tissue lands on the edge of the waste bin and he's too lazy to reach down and push it in, nudges it with his foot instead. Then he gets up -- slowly, because his back aches -- and grabs the blanket from the couch. "So you want me to come on Saturday then?"

He switches off the light before heading down the hall in near complete darkness.

"Would you?" She sounds so hopeful that he feels like the shittiest son on the planet.

"You know I will," he tells her with a sigh. Saturday night is the busiest time of the week in the club, but he'll get someone to stand in for him. Niall still owes him for that horrible birthday party of one of his Uni friends.

The blanket is about to fall to the floor when he turns right, into the only room with a bed. It's a tacky affair, heart-shaped and placed in the center of the room like some sort of twisted altar. But at least the mechanism that allows it to slowly spin has been turned off.

"And will you at least try? With Louis, I mean?"

He falls onto the bed, accidentally looks up at the mirrored ceiling and catches his own grimace. He drapes the blanket over his head, voice muffled when he answers, "yes mum, I'll try. But I have to leave by ten, I'll have to find someone else to cover for me until then. Liam, maybe. Or Niall."

"Be here at six then," she tells him happily before making kissing sounds and saying her goodbyes.

Harry just about manages to lock his phone before he falls asleep, snuggling into the fluffy warmth of the blanket.

  


+++

  


"When are you finally getting girl strippers?" Niall shouts far too loudly even over the music. A nearby customer frowns at that and Harry takes it upon himself to top up his drink, free of charge.

"There's a thousand normal strip clubs around town, this one'll stay tits free for now." He places another shot in front of Niall. It's always so much easier to get him to agree to things when he's plastered and Harry still needs him to fill in on Saturday. "And anyway, you'd want cat ears probably. We tried them out, they keep coming loose."

Niall doesn't respond, no longer does when anyone teases him about his love for cats. Instead he just looks around. "You still got that hot bartender?"

Harry smirks, points at himself. "Me? Why Niall, I'm flattered but you know I just don't feel the same about you."

Niall just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Your crush is embarrassing mate. You know I'm not interested in your dick. Or your arse. Or whatever."

"Are we discussing Harry's preferences?" It's Cameron, still sweaty from having just finished a dance on the main stage, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. His g-string is a bright neon-green and leaves pretty much nothing to the imagination, offset by the bright white from the wings.

Niall looks away. Harry almost laughs at his expression. "Are you blushing?"

"No," Niall says, far too quickly.

"I think he's a bottom," Cameron declares, sliding in behind Harry. His hands settle on Harry's hips and he dances behind him suggestively, not really touching anywhere else but certainly pulling some interested eyes from the crowd. Harry, not liking to be outdone by one of his more mouthy dancers, turns around and shimmies his shoulders at the smaller guy, grinning until Cameron rolls his eyes and pulls away, neatly sidestepping Harry.

"Don't start what you can't finish," Harry says before returning to sort through the glasses.

"Yeah, yeah," Cameron says, his eyes brightening at Kieran's approach.

His set isn't for another hour but his torso is bare, dark skin contrasting beautifully with the wings on his back. They appear smaller due to his bulk, back muscles rippling as he crowds Cameron against the wall with one arm propped over his head. "That was a good set."

Cameron smiles at him brightly, giving him a slow once-over. "Yeah?"

And then they're kissing and Harry counts to ten before smacking them both with a towel. "Stop making out when you've got the wings on. The customers should get the feeling you're available."

"Well I don't know," Kieran says, his hands trailing down the front of his boyfriend's chest. "Looks pretty available to me."

There's some more kissing, which Harry lets slide because another act has just started on the main stage and most customers are checking it out. It's on the other side of the room so their little indiscretion isn't too obvious.

Cameron pushes Kieran back with a gentle hand on his chest. He doesn't take his eyes off of him, even when he addresses Harry, "I still think people would pay good money to see us. I mean it'd basically be porn. Who doesn't love porn?"

Harry shakes his head. It's not the first time he's heard their argument. "It's a conflict of interest," he says, pushing past them to grab a fresh towel. "You'd get so into undressing each other the customers would feel left out."

Kieran turns to him, his hand stroking down Cameron's side. "You underestimate the voyeuristic tendencies of our customers."

Harry shoos them out from behind the bar. "Not gonna happen, go film your amateur porn at home like everyone else."

"And here I was about to put my vote in that you're clearly a top,” Kieran says in a deep drawl. “I mean we all know what you're packing."

"Why have they all seen your dick?" Niall exclaims before covering his ears with his hands. "No, don't answer that! La la la I can't hear you."

Cameron pushes against Kieran's chest, who doesn't move an inch. "What the fuck does the size of his cock have to do with his preference?"

"La la la!"

"Nothing, baby," Kieran murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle his neck. "Only don't pretend the size of my cock isn't the reason you like to bottom so much."

Cameron makes a dismissive sound before regaining his smirk. "Maybe he's forgotten his preferences. What with his last fuck having been so long ago."

"Hey," Harry says, frowning at him. "Five months is not that long."

All eyes turn sympathetic, even Niall's. "Shit mate," he says, downing another shot after holding it up in some sort of salute to Harry’s dead sex life. "I'm so sorry."

Kieran laughs a deep, rumbling sound that gathers momentum with time. "But can you imagine it?" he says, still grinning. "If he finally sets his eyes on someone, they'll get the full force of his pent up frustration. They'll drown in an onslaught of desperate flirting."

"You all suck."

"Well someone has to," Cameron grumbles, grabbing Kieran's hand and pulling him away. "If you won't."

They watch them walk off, Harry judging Niall to be just the right amount of drunk when his gaze lingers just a little too long on their arses.

"Hey Nialler," he starts, handing him another beer. "You got anything planned for Saturday night?" 

  


+++

  


Gemma and Matthew are off in a corner, whispering and sneaking kisses. If he could, Harry's glare would have burned his sisters on-again boyfriend to smithereens already.

"Darling, do concentrate. I told you you're needed in the kitchen, why are you setting the table?"

He looks around at the extravagant decorations, the expensive china and the actual silverware. He'd peeked into the kitchen earlier and judging by how the velvet cupcakes had to cool in the opened cupboards due to lack of space anywhere else, his mum has prepared a ten course meal. He'd known she'd take this evening seriously, but this might actually be a bit much.

"I want to keep an eye on them," he says, nodding to where Gemma has her head resting on Matthew's shoulder, looking at something on his phone.

His mum sighs, no amusement left in her tone. "Oh, honestly. Will you stop fretting? She's older than you, for crying out loud. And she's been dating him for several years now. I don't see why you must hate him so."

"He's a dickhead," Harry mumbles. His mum hasn't been around for it all, having only moved back to the London suburbs a couple of months ago. He's lived here long enough to have experienced the entire thing. Those nights when Gemma's called him, crying, are particularly vivid. But no matter how many dates Matthew had stood her up on, no matter how many times he'd acted cagey and wouldn't answer her questions, nothing would convince his sister to just dump his sorry arse. No, Matthew always had an excuse, some family emergency, no phone reception or a crisis at home.

But his mum doesn't know, just throws up her hands in frustration and shoos him back to the kitchen.

The dinner guests arrive at seven and while Harry helped set the table, he hadn't bothered to count the settings. Jay and her husband come in first, taking off their coats while Louis and Fizzy push in behind them. They are followed by a set of twin girls who have their heads bent over a phone, giggling like mad.

"We left the younger twins with the sitter," Jay says and she leans up to kiss his cheek in greeting.

"The... the younger twins?"

She just smiles at him, patting his arm without further explanation. He receives a similarly warm greeting from Fizzy and a decidedly cooler look from Louis.

Harry smiles at him widely, having decided to give the guy another chance. If that decision has maybe been influenced by some of his late night fantasies then so be it, he’s only human after all. His smile, however, slithers off his face when Louis takes off his coat to reveal a form-fitting, long-sleeved turtleneck.

It draws attention to the excruciating beauty of his face, the delicate length of his neck in contrast to the sharpness of his gaze. The soft material of the dark wool clings to Louis' hips in all kinds of interesting ways, drawing attention to his legs, powerful and lovely all at once. He can imagine Louis dancing, can see his body move in his mind's eye.

Harry can't help be distracted by that, the way Louis looks is practically illegal in that outfit while milling around in his mum's entrance area so casually.

So yes, he might stare like an idiot for a bit, completely missing Louis' greeting. Only once Louis narrows his eyes, clearly displeased, do the words register in Harry's mind.

"Hi," he drawls, like his mind has taken over and decided the best response to Louis' clear displeasure is to immediately flirt with him. "Sorry. You distracted me there for a second."

"Doesn't take much," Louis replies in a tone of voice that makes Harry stand up straighter, makes him want to win, no matter the game.

"You have an unfair advantage."

"And what's that?"

Harry lets his gaze dip right down to Louis' shoes before dragging it back up slowly. It's a bit disheartening when Louis just stares back blankly, but Harry isn't willing to give up. He leans in instead, makes sure to let his breath play along Louis' ear. "With that body you'd look good in anything. Even if it isn't an expensive jumper that looks criminally soft." He lets his fingers play over the crook of Louis’ elbow. He’d been right, the material feels like spun silk, warmed from Louis’ bodyheat.

Surprisingly, Louis doesn't pull back, doesn't even flinch, just stands there and looks at Harry. Slow like the tide he shifts, a smirk appearing on his lips. It's predatory and Harry feels the goosebumps rise on his skin, the tingling on the back of his neck. Something happened in Louis' stance, his demeanor, and suddenly Harry feels less like the hunter and more like the prey.

He shivers, a move not missed by Louis.

"You're cute," Louis tells him softly, neatly stepping around him and following the others. He leans in enough to whisper, "but I'd eat you for breakfast."

He leaves and Harry just stands there, trying to collect himself because that? That hadn't sounded like an overused cliche. That had sounded downright filthy.

He follows, picks up a glass of wine from the dinner table and finds Jay oohing and aahing over the winter garden and its glass ceiling, stuffed with all types of plants his mum loves so much. She pours so much love and energy into it and Harry feels proud and happy when someone else acknowledges her diligent work.

Louis is standing over by the table, chatting with Gemma. He's ignoring Harry skillfully, easily, and it makes his palms itch, makes him want to do something stupid just to draw Louis' attention.

Rather luckily, one of the twins plants herself in front of him. "So," she says, snatching his full wine glass and taking a sip. "you're Harry."

It's not a question and he doesn't take it as one. "Are you even old enough to be drinking?"

"Yeah," she says off-handedly, waving her bubblegum pink nails. "We've got good genes, never really look our age."

He nods slowly, still trying to figure out if she's having him on. The silence stretches between them, the look she gives him over the rim calculating. "So, which one are you?"

"I'm Daisy, I'm the older twin, though we're both pretty awesome." She crosses her arms, glass dangling elegantly from her hand, fingers wrapped around the top part instead of the stem. She cocks out her hip and asks rather suspiciously for someone so young, "now, what are your intentions towards my brother?"

Harry can't really believe he's getting the third degree from another Tomlinson, this one having barely reached the legal age. What is it with this family and confrontation? Since he isn't about to inform her he'd been hoping for a single night of fun, he shrugs instead. "Don't really have any intentions towards him."

She lets out a low humming sound and doesn't even flinch when her twin appears behind her and snatches the wine glass. Daisy keeps her eyes on him but angles her head back, like she's talking to Phoebe in some sort of confidential manner, "I mean he's cute enough, but he's just a bit... oh, I don't know. Bit of a wet blanket, isn't he?"

"I can hear you, you know."

Phoebe finishes the drink before giving him a rather condescending once-over. "You know how mum likes to exaggerate. Also she thinks everyone is fascinating once she's had a glass."

"True," Daisy agrees, nodding her head and sighing. "It's just a bit of a let-down, you know?"

Her twin agrees and they stare at him some more.

"Look," Harry starts. He can't believe he's actually trying to argue his character traits to a pair of teens. "I'm a nice guy, okay? And fun at parties."

"Not this one."

He gapes, just for a second, before collecting himself enough to say, "yes well, I'm feeling under the weather."

Daisy waves him off and out of nowhere says, "Louis doesn't need another pretty party boy that won't stick around --"

"-- he's had enough of those," Phoebe picks up seamlessly, "he needs someone who is sorted. Content with themselves and ready to settle down."

He can't win, he realises. The Tomlinsons or Deakins or whatever, are a protective bunch of trigger-happy people always looking for a fight. He sighs, admitting defeat, and points at the empty wine glass. "Can I get you another?"

They both smile at him simultaneously. "Yes, please."

He nods and moves away, keeping them in his line of vision. On the way to get their refill he's stopped by Jay, who is all smiles and motherly warmth. After his encounter with the twins, he's not buying it.

Thankfully, Jay asks him about his job soon, meaning his mum sweeps in and takes hold of the conversation, knowing the pitfalls ahead. It allows him to slip away to the kitchen without further disruption.

He's just refilled the wine glass and added a second one, because they're bound to remind him they're two separate people if he doesn't. Without a free hand, he pushes the kitchen door open with his shoulder, taking in a deep breath to steel himself for a tough evening ahead. He's just turning around when --

"Fuck!"

Harry looks down in abject horror to where Louis is standing in front of him. Both their gazes are fixed on Louis' turtleneck, which looks like a murder scene, wine from two glasses staining the expensive material. Harry closes his eyes when the soaked material, comically slowly, drips red onto Louis' shoes.

"Oh my god," he squeaks, still unable to move. "I am so sorry."

Louis opens his mouth and then closes it again.

"Should we -- uhm. Try salt?" Harry says desperately.

Louis speaks slowly, controlled, "unless you have several pounds of the stuff laying around, I doubt this is the sort of spill that's solved with salt."

"I'm sorry," Harry tries again. Louis doesn't acknowledge it, just closes his eyes. "Are you, uhm, are you counting to ten?"

"Yes," Louis grinds out. "Now, where's the bathroom. I think I need to... clean up."

"Oh. Oh! Yes of course. Come on, I'll show you."

Leaving the thrice cursed wine glasses behind, Harry leads him upstairs to the main bathroom. "It's more spacious," he explains when he notices Louis' raised eyebrow.

He isn't even through the door when Louis starts undressing.

And it's not like Harry isn't used to guys getting naked in his presence -- hello, strip club -- but this is... awkward.

The tightness of the neck leaves Louis’ hair ruffled and the top makes a sickening wet sound when he drops it into the basin. His skin is damp, several beads of red liquid rolling down his torso and seeping into the top hem of his trousers, turning them an even darker hue.

"I'll pay for the dry cleaning. Or a new jumper."

"It’s fine," Louis says distractedly while reaching for a washcloth. “It’s rather expensive.”

Harry scowls at him. “Granted, I have to work for my money, but I think I can pay for a new turtleneck.”

Instead of a retort, Louis wets the washcloth with warm water and starts sliding it over his abdomen, removing the sticky mess and leaving behind nothing but tanned, smooth skin.

“No tattoos for you?”

Louis’ eyes slant to where Harry’s tattoos peek out from beneath his shirt, before he shakes his head. “Never much liked them. For myself, I mean. Yours are quite nice, though.” He holds the washcloth under running water for a moment before bringing it back to his skin. “Any meaning behind them?”

“Not really,” Harry says, watching the meditative way Louis cleans himself. “Just kind of liked them.”

Louis hums as he brings the cloth all the way up to his neck. He tips his head back and lets it slide down over his skin slowly, Harry’s eyes following every movement with great attention. It’s mesmerising to watch, kind of intimate, a glimpse into Louis’ routine he wouldn’t usually have.

He’s clearly had a holiday recently, somewhere with lots of sun and time to spend getting a tan. His tiny nipples have hardened thanks to the cold water, his stomach muscles tense and a rather lovely happy trail leading down to --

Harry snaps his eyes back up. Louis is watching him. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t hold it over Harry that he caught him staring, but he doesn’t hide it either, just looks at Harry with an unreadable expression. For god knows what reason, Harry can feel his cheeks heat. "I'll, uhm. I’ll just look for a fresh shirt for you."

Louis nods, already back to cleaning up Harry's mess. "You do that."

When he returns to the bathroom minutes later, shirts in hand, he still can't quite believe he actually managed to douse Louis in red wine. It derails the whole dynamic they had going and is also rather embarrassing if he thinks about it, makes Louis' poised demeanor all the more apparent for his own klutziness. 

He knocks, waits for the, "yes, you may enter, Curly. You were in here just a moment ago, after all," before stepping inside.

Harry surveys the scene -- carnage, really. The soaked-through turtleneck is still piled in the basin, now swimming in pink water. Louis' has unbuttoned his trousers enough to wipe the damp washcloth over his lower belly, dipping down far enough to tease along the edges of his pants.

"Here are some shirts," Harry says, voice husky and mouth dry. Any moment now, he'll stop staring at Louis' slightly protruding and ever so fascinating tummy. Any second now.

“Thanks.” Instead of taking them, Louis grabs for a fresh towel, drags it over his torso. He's rough with himself, scrubbing the skin vigorously and Harry frowns, has to stop himself from reaching out and gentling the material over Louis' delicate skin.

"This wasn't some sort of twisted payback, you know. I really am very sorry."

Louis sighs and chucks the towel aside. "Yes, I know. I know there was no malice in what happened tonight. Accidents happen." He clears his throat, suddenly concentrating hard on buttoning his trousers. "If anyone should be issuing an apology, it should be me. I was being a right idiot at the wedding. I had a stressful week, what with having to help out with organising the reception. That's not an excuse, I know. But I shouldn't have said those things about your sister. I shouldn't have said them about anyone. And I am sorry."

Harry tries, but the grin still blossoms on his face. "Apology accepted."

Louis nods and starts wringing out his turtleneck after pulling the plug free, bright pink rivulets finding their way towards the drain with every press of his fingers. Harry watches him work for some time, gaze fixed on how he skillfully handles the material.

"I like your hands," he says in a mesmerised tone of voice.

Louis laughs. "Well, they aren't quite the shovels you have at the end of your arms, but I guess they do the work."

Maybe this evening isn't a complete waste, Harry thinks, thumbing at his lower lip. "Been looking at my hands, too, have you?"

Louis shrugs, giving his wet top one last twist, biceps and chest muscles moving enticingly. "You remember the little things when two glasses of red wine come towards you." He looks up and immediately adds, "oh come on, don't pull that face. That was a joke!"

Harry tries to lose the chagrined expression. "I really am sorry, you know?"

"Yes, yes. All's forgiven."

"Does that mean I can go back to flirting with you, without fearing for my life?"

"Oh is that what you were doing?"

"Ha ha," Harry says dryly. He hadn't known flirting could be this hard when the other party just keeps shutting him down.

"Well I wasn't sure," Louis says, hanging the turtleneck up to dry. "Wouldn't want to disturb your sabbatical."

Harry swears he'll never tell anyone about that, ever again. He's just contemplating how best to explain that, really, his sabbatical wouldn't be broken at all by a single night, when he hands Louis the shirts still clutched in his hand.

"These are -- I think you might have accidentally brought me your sister's clothes. Or your mum's."

Harry frowns down at where Louis is holding his pink silk shirt and the yellow lace one. Louis is looking down at them like they're personally offending him. "I can't wear these."

"Oh come on," Harry says. "I'm sure they'd suit you just fine."

Louis narrows his eyes. "Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I have to wear flouncy shirts, Styles."

"Those are mine," Harry tells him.

Louis blinks. "Look, I'm sure you look great in pink silk, but trust me, I can't wear this."

It's maybe a bit odd, how Louis is so vehement on this topic, but Harry shrugs and gets him a plain grey t-shirt instead.

"You just gonna stand there and watch?"

Harry leans against the door jamb, shrugs and does just that. Louis pulls the fabric over his arms and head, hides away his torso. His movements are economical, like he's calculated the value of each. One last glance in the mirror and a quick adjustment of his hair later, he steps into Harry's personal space.

He tries not to shiver as Louis' hand slides up from his stomach to his neck, fingers circling around the back of it while his thumb presses down softly into the dip between his collarbones.

He can feel Louis' body heat like this, knows he's standing up straight and still barely reaching Harry's slouched height.

Louis' eyes trace Harry's lips, mouth slack from the sudden intimacy of the moment. He swallows heavily, watches Louis smirk when he feels it beneath his thumb. Louis leans in close enough that he can feel his scruff against his cheek, wants to turn his face and rub against it.

Instead his breath hitches when Louis presses closer, warm and solid and real. "This thing between us," he murmurs, his lip catching ever so slightly on Harry's ear. He slides his thumb under Harry's chin, turns it away from him.

Harry lets him, doesn't manage to hide the hitch in his voice, hopes desperately he won't pop a boner from simply having a guy whisper in his ear.

But then Louis' teeth close around the line of his jaw, biting down just hard enough for Harry to let out a surprised whimper. His hands still hang uselessly by his side, fingers twitching for purchase, but he doesn't dare reach out, afraid Louis will be dragged out of this moment instead of pulling him in further.

Louis bites down harder before letting go, sliding his lips back against Harry's ear. "This thing between us? It's not going to happen."

"What?" Harry says still sounding drugged.

He grabs for Louis who is already pulling back, out of reach. "I'm not going to have a one-night stand with you. So stop trying so hard. Go find someone who shares your goals." Louis steps back, waves his hand to encompass all of Harry. "You aren't that bad looking, I'm sure you'll catch someone's attention. Eventually."

Before he can drag his thoughts back to coherency, Louis has disappeared, headed back downstairs.

Right.

Because his mum is hosting a party.

Harry adjusts his jeans and heads back downstairs, mind still reeling. He hadn't expected Louis to be quite this, this aggressive. It makes for an interesting plot twist, his body's reaction belying just how much he's enjoyed that. But if Louis though to scare him off, he's chosen the wrong way to go about it.

Joining the party he hopes to corner Louis, who manages to slip away right up until dinner is served, and even there he sits on the exact opposite end of the table, making any conversation impossible.

During the course of dinner, Phoebe knocks over a water bottle still half full, which in turn causes Jay's eyes to narrow and ask if she's been drinking. Gemma keeps feeding her boyfriend and one of the baby potatoes slips off her fork and rolls half way across the table. Jay's husband spears it without batting an eye and places it on his plate, seemingly used to this sort of thing.

Apart from that, his mum and Jay hardly come up for air during their chat, heads bent together and voices low. At least those two seem to be having a good time.

Throughout it all, Harry sulks at Louis' continued ignorance of the simple fact that Harry actually exists.

After pudding though, that's when a chance presents itself.

Harry is just poking around in his black cherry and apple crumble when Louis' mum decides to throw him under the bus.

"Darling? Have you exchanged numbers with Harry yet?" Louis looks ready for murder, tries not to grumble loudly at her lack of subtlety. With another glare he unlocks and hands over his phone to her wriggling fingers.

She hands the phone to Harry. "There you go dear, just enter your number, go on then."

Harry does as he's told, decides not to add any inappropriate emoji combination behind his name just in case Jay looks at the entry in greater detail. Once done, he gives himself a quick missed call before handing the phone back.

Jay pats his arm. "Now, feel free to call Louis for anything, isn't that right, Louis?"

"Oh yes," Louis says while leveling his eyes on Harry. "Do call for anything."

Harry smirks, just a little, and thumbs at the spot on his jaw Louis had previously bitten.

  


+++

  


"Oh my god!" Jason moans, head thrown back with his eyes close. "Fuck, that's good."

Harry smirks. "Can I assume you like sushi then?"

"Assume away," comes the response. Jason has yet to move from his prone position.

It brings a smile to Harry's lips, giddy, to see so much pleasure erupt on Jason's features.

Peeling his eyes open again slowly, Jason picks up another piece with his chopsticks and sticks it in his mouth.

"Good?"

Jason nods frantically, cheeks bulging out, hamster-style. Once his mouth is empty, he finally speaks up, "you have no idea how much I love sushi. And how it's very much not on the cards for anyone who's struggling to make his rent."

Harry laughs, charmed by his child-like enthusiasm. "Well, I can tell you the guys loved you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Practically just a matter of signing the contract now."

Jason starts bouncing in his seat, chopsticks turning into tiny weapons in his flailing hands. "Are you for real?" he half shouts. "I'm in?"

"You're in," Harry tells him.

Two seconds later he finds himself with a lapful of happily squirming boy, hugging him hard and whispering heart-felt thank yous into his ear.

"Okay now, stop harassing me and go eat your sushi."

Jason basically dances the half step back to his place, the grin on his face so wide Harry fears for the top of his head.

Harry picks up a piece of salmon sashimi, trying and failing to make this at least seem professional. "You can start next week. But remember, you won't be dancing for a while."

"Are you kidding me?" comes a different voice.

Harry startles so hard his sashimi slips off his chopsticks.

Jason looks up at the newcomer with big, innocent eyes. That startled deer-in-headlights expression would have secured him the job if he didn't already have it. Also, his body can contort in ways Harry hasn't seen in a long, long time. Basically, Jason had the job since the beginning, but Harry likes sushi and the club's accountant keeps telling him he can put a dinner like this up as expenses.

What he hadn't suspected, was to run into Louis Tomlinson.

He’s been texting him sporadically, once or twice sending him pictures to decide which shirt to wear or which shoes go best with his trousers. Louis always responds, even in a timely manner, though it isn’t always the answer Harry expects. Louis has an eye for detail and quite decent taste, even if he has called Harry a pirate twice now. It’s lighthearted banter with days of silence in between. It’s less of a conversation and more short, yet intense, little bursts of dialogue.

They don’t discuss their plans, so there’s no way Louis could have known he’d be here.

"Louis," Harry says calmly, fishing his sashimi out of the soy sauce and placing it on his plate. He suppresses the urge to check his hair, fluff it up and slide it behind his ears. "This is Jason. Jason, this is my -- erm. My mum's friend's son. Louis Tomlinson."

"He used to follow me around like a concussed duckling," Louis tells Jason, pointing his thumb at Harry.

Harry rolls his eyes and dabs at his embroidered YSL jacket. He hopes soy sauce doesn't stain because he's not really in a position to demand Louis pay for the spill. Not after the unfortunate mishap with the red wine, but damnit this jacket gouged a hole into his savings, he'd like to enjoy it for a little while longer.

"Oh," Jason says happily. "You're old friends? Well you can join us, Louis. I'd love to meet Harry's friends."

"Yes, Louis," Harry says while turning out of his seat to have a better line of sight on Louis. He gives him a slow once-over. Louis looks delectable, wearing a formal suit, tie and all, like he's just come out of a business meeting. Harry shivers, mind already running with it. When he speaks again, his voice is deep, gravelly, like he's just gone down on someone. "Come join us."

"That's all right. Wouldn't want to disrupt your date night."

Harry casually drops his hand onto his thigh, lets his fingers slip between his legs. He's gratified when Louis swallows noticeably. "This isn’t a date. We haven’t been dating, and we won’t, because we work together.”

“That’s nice,” Louis says cooly. It’s put on, Harry can tell. If he isn’t misreading this completely, he’d say Louis is just a bit flustered at that information.

“Come join us, then. We don't mind, do we Jason?"

And Jason is a peach because he plays right along. "Not one bit, no."

"We aren't even friends," Louis says, his voice just ever so slightly strained. "You just stalk me."

"Hey," Harry says with a playful pout, spreading his legs wider. He searches out Louis' gaze before he murmurs, "I came first. Came here, I mean."

Something shifts on Louis' face, like an inner wall slamming up. "Yeah, Curly," he says and Harry hates how quickly he can distance himself, how dismissive he sounds while turning away and scrolling through his phone. "You keep telling yourself that."

  


+++

  


Once out of earshot, Louis hits number five on speed dial and waits impatiently.

"There's this guy here," he says the moment the call connects. "Come be my pretend boyfriend and save me."

"Fuck no," comes the immediate response.

"Look Zayn," Louis hisses, making sure to keep Harry and his little boy toy in his line of sight. "I went with you to that concert when no one else would, because let me tell you, you have shitty taste in music. Now it's time for you to pay up."

"I'm already in my boxers," Zayn whines.

Louis takes a deep breath. If he calls him a whiney little bitch, Zayn might just hang up on him. "Look, just throw on something nice, sort out your hair and pick me up. Be friendly. Nuzzle my ear or whatever counts as foreplay in your depraved sex life."

"Can I grope your bum?"

Louis motions rather impatiently to the waiter trying to take his order. "Fine. I'll let you grope my bum if you actually put in an effort. I've seen you with unstyled hair, don't even think about showing up like that." Since the waiter is still hovering, Louis levels a glare at him. "One platter number five, no wasabi, and a plate of salmon sashimi, extra ginger and only the light soy sauce. To go, please."

Zayn perks up. "Are you at Zuma's?"

Louis makes a half-hearted attempt to dissemble. "No?"

"Great." There's rustling from Zayn's side, like he's finally getting out of bed. "Throw in my fave and I'll be there in ten. I'll be the gropiest fake boyfriend you've ever had."

Louis just hits the disconnect button before sighing and turning to the waiter, definitely a new hire, still holding out the menu. "Also, the starter dumplings, platter number twelve, hold the calamari nigiri and exchange it for prawn, it's fine we do it all the time, and platter fifteen, extra teriyaki, as well as one portion of salmon and one tuna sashimi. To go as well." He waits a bit, but the waiter just looks at him helplessly. Louis sighs. "Look, get out your notepad and I'll repeat it, okay?"

He watches the new guy take down his order and wonders, not for the first time, why his idiot of a friend was blessed with such a fast metabolism.

While he waits for Zayn to arrive, he takes out his phone and flips through his messages, ignores two from his mum, and surreptitiously watches Harry. It's a bit obscene how the chopsticks look so fragile in his hands, how deft he is at handling them. Louis has a thing for pretty hands and Harry -- the utter bastard -- has them. He also, apparently, has a really pretty guy friend he likes to take out on dinner dates. Harry is telling some elaborate story, judging by the movements of his arms and the twink, Jason, whatever, is hanging onto his every word, chin propped in his hand, food lying forgotten.

Louis grabs for a pair of chopsticks when Jason starts laughing, Harry's face lighting up in sheer delight at having caused that expression. Louis averts his eyes, tries to watch the chefs work, tries to be interested in the way they roll a cucumber maki roll -- and honestly what kind of vegan hippie eats those -- while tearing the chopsticks apart and rubbing them against each other.

His food arrives, nicely packed in containers and he's thankfully distracted for a minute or two while paying. After that, he's back to staring at the table in the corner, where Harry is using his chopsticks as fangs and Jason is basically rolling on the floor in silent laughter.

"Honey!"

Louis startles and very nearly elbows Zayn in the ribs when he whips around too fast, almost toppling out of his chair. He scrambles to hug him close, turning them so he can watch Harry while hissing through a smile, "who the fuck calls their boyfriend honey, you knob. Okay quick, grope my butt, he's looking. And you better make it good you fucktart. I'm so over him hitting on me."

"Aww," Zayn says, smiling and looking gorgeous. At least he's got that going for himself. He turns them so Louis' back is to Harry and Zayn slides his hand down to squeeze his bum. Quite frankly, Louis is genuinely happy Harry can’t see his expression because this feels like being felt up by a family member. "Who're you crushing on, then?"

"No one," Louis says quickly, stepping back and making sure to smile at Zayn while watching Harry out of the corner of his eyes. Well, he seems to have his attention, at least. He cuddles close to Zayn and tells him sweetly, "you can carry the food, you bottomless pit."

Zayn does, easily slinging an arm around Louis while carrying their take out. He nuzzles his nose into Louis' throat and gives him a wet lick up the side of it. Louis shudders and takes the excuse of walking through the door for stepping away from Zayn.

"You're disgusting," he tells him, discreetly wiping at his neck.

Zayn just smiles. "Come on, I've got the cab waiting over there. Oh and honey? What with having to look good for your surprise 'make this guy jealous' scheme, I forgot my wallet."

"I'm not trying to make him jealous," Louis mutters and climbs in.

Somehow he wriggles out of Zayn's prying questions that night and falls asleep with a belly full of rice and fish. He also wakes up at six with a thirst so dire, he genuinely considers if he'd been turned into a vampire during the night. Fucking soy sauce.

He rolls out of bed, Zayn's stupid charcoal silk sheets making that horrible squeaking sound Louis detests. He's so thirsty he doesn't even bother kicking Zayn until he rolls over, just lets him sleep and snore. Louis had always known there’s no way anyone could be quite as pretty as Zayn without a serious downside to his character.

He'd been right. Besides various other shortcomings, all of which Louis makes sure to make fun of on a rotating schedule, Zayn snores like a three hundred pound lumberjack.

And so he makes his way to the kitchen, accompanied by the grating sound of Zayn's snoring. He grabs a large bottle of water from the fridge and downs half of it in one go, clutching the counter afterwards when his stomach twists at the coldness.

He checks his phone, clicks away a reminder to meet Lottie for lunch. It's burned in his brain anyway and she's kept him updated via Whatsapp, sending him gorgeous pictures of her honeymoon to which he'd replied with a progressively more clipped tone of voice. Until her last picture; an empty beach, a sunset and a perfectly placed palm tree with a hammock, to which he'd replied I HATE YOU and muted their chat for eight hours while he'd gone out and got roaringly drunk.

There are some messages and emails, none of them of interest. He chucks his phone onto the couch and flops down next to it, turning the channel to a summary of the Saturday footie matches.

He taps his foot, annoyed.

Not because he'd somehow expected a text. Certainly not from Harry, who clearly had more important things to do. Like that boy.

Louis gnaws at his thumbnail. He's probably hotter than Jason, right? So yes, he's quite a bit older, Jason still firmly swimming in the jailbait pool while Louis is... well, very decidedly no longer twenty. But he's not too shabby, right? His face is probably more interesting, even if his body is more, well... softer around the edges. Whatever.

It doesn't even matter because he doesn't want anything from Harry. Yes so, he's good looking, charmed his entire family with his weirdness and Louis wouldn't mind seeing him naked. But, well, Harry clearly likes to play the field, is the type of guy who likes the chase. Louis has had those, fuck, he's been one of those.

And sure, he pretends his mum's repeated and increasingly unsubtle moves to find him a man bother him. But in reality, she knows it's what he really craves. She's good at that, at knowing what he wants. It's probably one of the reasons they get along so well.

He snuggles under a blanket -- bloody cold in here anyway -- and after the next two match summaries and further mulling of that problem, he decides that really, he can't make an educated guess as to who is hotter until he's seen Jason's arse.

Sighing deeply, Louis decides to get started with his day.

He gets up to make himself a cuppa, leaving his phone and thoughts of Harry behind.

  


+++

  


Monday's meeting very nearly ends in disaster.

The problem can't even be pinpointed; it's nothing he did or said. It wasn't Claudine’s fault either. She’s just a newly elected committee member, a very rational and no-nonsense thirty-five year old woman Louis has worked with for years.

He meets her for lunch at The Ledbury in West London and pays for it out of his own pocket. He just wants her to feel comfortable, wants her to do a decent job. The food is everything he'd expect from a two star michelin place and Louis makes sure to send his compliments to the head chef as well as the maitre-de. After all, he didn't have to wait eight weeks for dinner reservations like most others here.

So it's not the food, the location or the topics of conversation.

No, it's all Louis.

It's hard to be charming and nice when all his thoughts keep returning to that damn dimpled smile, the way Harry had spread his legs for him, right there in the middle of Zuma’s, invitation clear as day.

Louis hadn’t been lying when he’d told Harry he wanted a relationship. But then he is only human himself, and it’s not like Harry, all his natural attractiveness aside, is pulling the punches.

If only they’d met years ago, both just past twenty, over their first heartbreak and eager to experience the variety life has to offer. Nothing but a casual hook-up to placate their need, a repeat performance here and there.

Or maybe they could have met way before then, before they first fell in and out of love and grew jaded by it all. They could have been each others firsts instead, and maybe that bond would have withstood the test of time and years later, Harry’s 21st birthday would also mark their five year anniversary.

It’s all make-belief anyway, nothing that will change the fact where they are at different stages of their lives and no amount of hoping and dreaming will change that. Louis is tired of meaningless sex, of meaningless connections that have him waking up the next moring feeling hungover and empty, drained because all the partying in the world can’t provide him with the happiness he wants, the kind that doesn’t leave a sour aftertaste in his mouth come sunrise.

Across from him Claudine looks at her wristwatch for the third time in as many minutes. "Would you mind if I check my phone?" she asks politely.

He motions for her to go ahead and she quickly retrieves her phone, holding it low and unobtrusively.

It just reminds him of Harry’s number on his own phone, just sitting there, neither of the texting since that night in Zuma’s.

The random messages, the pictures with clothing choices, he’d grown used to that. They hadn’t really talked about anything important, though Harry’s family, his mother and sister, had slipped into the conversation more than once. Louis likes that, feels it’s similar to what he has with his family, something they clearly both value greatly.

He’s told himself several times now, that texting Harry wouldn’t accomplish anything. No dating and no sex would leave only friendship, something he thinks they would rather excel at. Sure. Until the sexual attraction would cause them to spontaneously combust, leaving behind an ashen crater where London used to be.

Louis closes his eyes and rolls them behind the privacy of his own lids.

The waiter passes by and he signals for the bill. This has been dragging out long enough and he's sure Claudine has better things to do than watch him mope. He manages to coax a genuine smile out of her when he helps her into her coat, so at least today isn’t a complete bust.

After seeing her off in a cab and paying her fare in advance, he decides against going back to work for the day. His job offers him free choice of office hours, he might as well make full use of that.

He ends up going for a bit a walk, just strolling along through some small park. A walk after lunch, that's good for the digestion, or so his mum keeps reminding him.

Louis is also reasonably sure Nick talked about buying a house somewhere around here. Maybe he could pop by for some tea.

He walks along one residential street after another, the type with narrow, tall houses all merging into one continuous architectural serpent, where every front door has its own set of stairs leading up to it. Concessions to nature include such riveting stuff like one tree for every five cars and maybe a front hedge that doesn't so much hide a garden but rather some of the masonry right behind it.

It's just after lunch and he sees several nannies pushing prams and chattering to each other in a language Louis doesn't recognise. The ones that have charges past the toddler age can be seen holding their hand while navigating them through this concrete jungle.

And all of a sudden he's done with it, with the pretentious coffee shops selling wheat free, vegan muffins for an arm and a leg. If he sees one more mum with a yoga mat in hand instead of the child she's pawned off to the nanny, one more goddamn SUV parked crooked, he might lose it. He hails a cab and heads home instead.

Home isn't his spacious loft apartment overlooking the Thames, with the floor to ceiling windows and the clean, minimalistic look that immediately doubles the price tag and can only be kept in such a pristine state with a team of people to perform the daily upkeep tasts of cleaning and mopping and washing.

No, home is his mum’s house, the one on the outskirts of town, with an actual garden all around it and kids playing in the street because everyone manoeuvring through these twined roads knows to only drive at half the speed limit anyway.

“Darling? Did something happen?”

His mum is a welcome distraction to his thoughts and he gives a rueful smile at the panic creeping into her tone. “Nothing happened. Nothing major, anyway.”

She smacks him with the kitchen towel that had been resting on her shoulder. She always keeps them there, ever since babies and bibs had been around the house. Which had been for as long as Louis can remember. “You’re not allowed to scare your old mum like that!”

Louis sighs dramatically. “Here I am, deciding to come by for a surprise visit and all you’re giving me is grief. I can go again, if you want.”

“Don’t you dare,” she says and Louis can hear the quiver in her voice, feels it when she pulls him in for a long-overdue hug. Standing there on his mum’s front porch, wrapped up in her arms, the smell of biscuits clinging to her, he can finally breathe again. He buries his nose in her shoulder and silently vows not to let so much time pass by between visits.

Before they’ve even finished the first cuppa, Louis’ Burberry jacket slung carelessly over one of the mismatched chairs in the kitchen, the twins get home from school.

“Muu-uum!” Doris shouts seconds after the front door bangs against the wall. Louis quickly pushes his mug towards the center of the table. His mum does the same. “Ern stole my football!” She comes to a sudden stop just inside the kitchen, backpack slung over one shoulder haphazardly. Her school uniform is an equal mess, one sock slipping down, shirt half untucked and her blazer crooked. “Louis!”

Louis grins at her and holds out his arms, waits for her to cling to his neck before hugging her close. “Doris my darling, you look fantastic.”

She pushes back with a wide grin. “I know right?” Her enthusiasm is like a sledgehammer, knocking everything in its path down, including niceties and good intentions.

His mum just shakes her head and slips Doris’ backpack off her shoulder, depositing it in the hall outside. “If i didn’t know any better, I’d swear the two of you are the twins in this family.”

Oblivious to the fact that she’s almost too tall for it, Doris climbs into Louis’ lap. She’s talking a mile a minute, all about how her brother stole her football and wouldn’t give it back and what a travesty it will be when she has to dye his hair purple while he sleeps.

Ernest arrives half an hour later, footie ball under his arm, uniform trousers covered in grass stains. By then his sister is sitting over her homework in the dining room. Ever since she started school some months ago, it’s the first thing she does when she gets home. Louis honestly doesn’t know where she gets it from.

But since she’s occupied there's no fight over the ball. Not yet, though Louis has no doubt it will happen. They fight viciously those two, fuelled by the sort of easily combustible anger only six year olds can muster.

Ernest pops his head in for half a second. There’s no acknowledgement of the fact that Louis is even present.

“I swear I don’t know what to do with these two,” his mum says when the door bangs shut.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Please. After myself and Lottie you had it easy.”

That earns him another smack with the kitchen towel. “You gonna tell your old mum why you’re here then? Do you wanna stay over?”

“Just felt like seeing you,” Louis mumbles.

She leans down to kiss the top of his head before stroking back his hair. “Darling, you know the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis sighs heavily, not because he’s irritated but because he’s missed this. “No lying to yourself, no lying to the family.”

She nods and starts pulling out a large casserole dish. On her way to the fridge she turns on the oven, giving it time to preheat. Louis watches his mum chop and slice her way through onions, potatoes and meat. They’ve always had maids and gardeners, even a cook for when times are busy. But his mum standing in the kitchen and cooking for them is a memory that’s been imprinted into his mind since as long as he can remember.

The comfort of the situation eases the tension inside him and he just sits there and watches her, sipping his tea and organising his thoughts. Doris comes in once with a question regarding her maths homework. It takes him a good ten minutes and the help of his calculator app before they work it out.

Apart from that though, it’s a well-known routine, easy and calming. By the time his mum is pushing the dish into the oven and setting the timer, Louis thinks he’s ready to talk.

“I met someone.”

His mum just nods, like she’d expected as much. She probably had. “And what’s wrong with him?”

Somehow, the words sting. It’s exactly the sort of direction he’d feared the questions to go. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“Darling, something is wrong, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You’d be back home with him.”

Louis circles the old tea stains on the wooden table. “We aren’t together.”

“Oh?”

He doesn’t answer, suddenly tongue-tied.

His mum sits down across from him, taking his fidgeting hands into hers. “You’re my firstborn. I’ve known you all your life and I know you suffer from bouts of self-doubt. But I also taught you you’re good enough for anyone you set your mind to. So what’s the problem?”

He takes a deep breath. Honesty, right. “He doesn’t want a relationship.” Louis laughs a bit bitterly. “Similarly to me at twenty.”

Doris runs into the kitchen then, wrapping her thin arms around his neck and almost choking him to death. “I’m done mum, can I have some biscuits?”

“We’re eating soon, have a tea to tide you over.”

Louis can’t see but he just knows Doris is pulling that face. “Eww,” she says emphatically before running back out.

“Go tell your brother I want to see his finished homework before dinner,” his mum shouts after her, shaking her head. “There’s something wrong with that child.”

“Who doesn’t like tea? Are you sure they weren’t exchanged at the hospital?”

His mum leans back, fixing him with a stare. “Do you love this boy?” So much for his diversion tactic.

“What? No! I mean. We only met a couple of times.”

“Well could you love him then,” she asks in that no-nonsense voice, like Louis is the one being ridiculous.

And maybe that’s true, because he doesn’t even have to think about that. “Yes, I could.”

She gets up and retrieves placemats from the drawer. “Well then. That settles it.” She smacks them down in front of him and moments later plates and cutlery are added to the pile. “Go set that up, there’s a dear.”

“I -- what? But mum,” he wines. “How does that settle anything?”

She rolls her eyes and shoos him up. “Don’t be silly, darling. I've been married three times, my advice will always be 'go for it'. And maybe you can start looking into adoption soon, it takes such a long time. I swear, I can’t believe I’ve raised all these kids only for each and every one of you to deny me a grandchild. It's like I failed.”

He just stands there, mouth hanging open, staring at her. “What?”

She comes to stand in front of him and he feels young again, even though he has to look down at her. “Louis,” she says clearly. “Go and fight for what you want. If you don’t try, you’ll have already failed. But if you do, there’s a chance you’ll succeed. And I know you. Once you set your mind to something you worry at the problem until you crack it.” She grabs for his hand and squeezes it tightly. “And if for whatever reason it shouldn’t work out, you come to me and we’ll get you through it together. I’ve got a shelf of ice cream in the freezer marked especially for heartache.”

Louis looks at her, his eyes damp. He loves his mum fiercely, loves that she always knows what to say to make it better. “Okay,” he says, nodding at her. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

And apparently, that settles it because they don’t talk about it again, not during the dinner and not while she hands him a fresh towel and gently pushes him into the guest room later that night.

  


+++

  


A week later, Louis is up at the crack of dawn. He wishes it was the first time this week, or even the second. But it's the third time, and it's only Wednesday. Fuck his life.

He sighs, and, deciding to make the best of it, gets dressed in his long-sleeved gym clothes. After half-arsing the stretching he shoves his key into his puma trackies and heads out.

The morning air is crisp, his breath misting as he runs in the dim twilight, muscles soon aching pleasantly. He pushes for a two minute sprint before falling back into a softer jog. Once he's nicely warmed up, he decides to get some tea for the way back, planning on taking it easy, nothing but a fast walk to give his muscles a chance to cool down.

Sweaty and flushed he steps into the nearest coffee shop, not really expecting a crowd this early in the morning. The counter is empty apart from the barista, who is shooting irritated glances to the rowdy group of guys in the corner. He ignores their blatant looks and one of them throwing a hey cutie in his direction. They're clearly drunk, verging on hungover, revved up from a night of partying.

He orders a black tea with milk, arguing that even after a morning jog in the dusk light, a bit of caffeine could never hurt.

"London is clearly to small for the both of us," comes a cheerful voice from behind him. "You'll have to move. Or accept that we are meant to be."

Louis cringes at the by now familiar voice, doesn’t feel ready for this interaction, hasn’t had time to plan. He turns to Harry who is dressed up in black leather boots, black skinny jeans and a yellow shirt unbuttoned way too low, teasing at several of the tattoos beneath the lace. For a few seconds Louis just stands there and gapes.

Harry had finally sent him another set of clothing options to choose from yesterday. He always puts the clothes on and takes a snap in a full-length mirror, glimpses of his bedroom, small but comfortable, showing in the background.

The one he’s wearing now had been an option last night. In fact, it’s the one Louis had texted back as being his favourite. Seeing him in it now is quite different though, and the idea that he actually listened to Louis’ opinion quite heady.

Unlike in the picture from last night though, Harry has his hair swept up in an easy bun. It’s messy, his hairline frizzy, like maybe he’d been dancing and sweating a bit.

Louis tries very hard not to let his mind linger on that thought, feels he needs all his faculties for the conversation ahead.

Just then Harry moves, the shirt falling open wider to display a huge moth -- or is that a butterfly? -- tattoo on his sternum. Unidentified insects aside, Louis can't stop staring because Harry in the flesh is about ten times hotter than Harry in a mirror selfie, pulling a face for the camera.

The silence and unblinking stare must clue Harry in because he smoothes down the front of his shirt, tight nipples doing indecent things to the sheer material. "'S pretty, isn't it," he asks softly.

"No," Louis mumbles, the word coming out more like a question.

"No?" Harry smirks. "Just no?"

"Yes. I mean no. Yes."

"Had a long night yourself? Did your pretty boyfriend keep you up last night?"

"What pretty boyfriend," Louis asks before his mind catches up.

"The stunning one. From the sushi restaurant."

And shit, he'd completely forgotten about that in the face of -- this. "No."

Harry shakes his head, smile easy and genuine. “We’ll have to teach you some new words.”

"Right.” Louis tries to think of something, anything. “How’s that sabbatical of yours going?"

Harry groans, long legs throwing interesting shapes when he pushes out his hip. "Can we please stop saying the word sabbatical? I'm sorry I ever brought it up."

Louis shrugs, stepping sideways to clear the path for Harry to reach the counter. Harry doesn't move, just looks at him intently. "So that guy. Not your boyfriend then?"

And he sounds so hopeful and young all of a sudden that Louis can’t keep his insides from melting, just a bit. "Zayn is my best friend."

Harry's expression changes, brightens like the sun coming up. "I assumed as much but like, didn't know for sure? Your mum was very adamant about getting you set up, and the two of you seem close. You'd have told her if you were seeing someone."

Louis shifts to his other leg, eyes glancing over the guys in the corner. They've simmered down, watching the both of them intently. He looks back at Harry and frowns. "Wow. That almost didn't sound creepy at all, the way you're analysing me."

Harry laughs easily, the dimple in his cheek forming a deep crater while his disturbingly white and perfectly straight teeth flash. If his motivations for getting into Louis' pants weren't quite so fleeting, he'd be the most perfect person Louis has ever met.

"Why'd you parade him like that, though?"

Louis isn't about to tell him how he hopes it would get Harry off his back. He's definitely not telling him it was his way of dealing with seeing Harry out with another guy. "We're just close," he lies easily.

"So," Harry muses, cheeky grin firmly in place. He nods at Louis' trackie pants and the oversized sweater. "I didn't know you owned anything apart from suits worth several thousand pounds. It uhm," he licks his lips, "you look good like this. I mean not that you don't look good in a suit, or a turtleneck because shit, you do. But this makes you look relaxed. Like you're slumming it with the average joe. You should wear it more often."

"You’ve never really seen me in a private setting, though," Louis reminds him. "And no, your mum’s party does not count."

Harry’s grin turns downright dirty. "We could change that, you know."

“No,” Louis says again and when Harry's face falls, he hates himself a little for taking the sparkle out of his eyes.

Before this can turn really awkward, or god forbid, Louis does something stupid just to cheer Harry up again, a loud shout interrupts them. "Harry! Mate, pick up the pace. Bring your pretty little friend, Charlie here is crushing something fierce."

Louis nods in their direction, where the seven guys are squished into a booth. There's no sense of personal space, one guy perched in a bigger guy's lap, nibbling his neck. "Friends of yours?"

"Yeah," Harry says, rubbing the back of his neck and biting his lip. "Do you, uhm, wanna join?"

Louis shakes his head and grabs his tea like it’s some kind of shield. "I'm good. Got to persuade people to part with their money and support a good cause and whatnot."

"Oh, yeah," Harry agrees, a note of sadness creeping into his voice.

Louis frowns at him, honestly perplexed at his suddenly weird behaviour. The flirting is one thing, but this slightly confused look on Harry's face is playing havoc with Louis' control because it triggers all his instincts of wanting to help, of taking away whatever has him looking like that.

Giving him a mock salute, Louis leaves the store to the background noise of loud, suggestive whistles as Harry approaches his group of friends.

If he feels boring and old for not joining, he suppresses it quite well and manages to hardly think of it on his way home.

  


+++

  


"He's cute," Cameron says from his perch on Kieran's lap. "Who is he?"

"No one," Harry mutters, sitting on the nearby chair instead of sliding into the booth with the others. "Our mums are friends."

"No star-crossed lovers then? Boo."

"No lovers at all. Just different end games, I guess. And we didn’t start off on the best foot, ‘cause within ten minutes of meeting, we managed to insult each other's families. Then I spilled red wine all over him."

"Ouch," Kieran says, absentmindedly batting away Charlie’s hand as it creeps towards his chocolate chip muffin. “I only share with my boyfriend.” Cameron giggles from his lap and nabs the muffin, taking a huge bite, grinning widely when Kieran just watches him chew intently. “Aren’t I one lucky boyfriend.”

“I’m the lucky one,” Kieran tells him, collecting some crumbs from the corner of Cameron’s mouth and licking it off slowly.

Cameron smiles at him and starts feeding him the muffin instead, breaking off tiny pieces and gently placing them on his tongue, kissing him in between bites.

"I can no longer hang out with you," Harry tells them seriously. "You guys are disgusting."

"Disgustingly in love," Kieran growls, dragging Cameron down for a kiss.

Harry ignores them, muttering to himself and definitely not spending a single moment being jealous. His rules are clear: no guys until the other aspects of his life are back on track. Gemma is still troubling, but his mum seems to be doing well, and the club really is doing well, judging by last month's summary he'd found on his table last night, the numbers written by hand in his accountant's orderly scrawl.

"I still think you should go for it," Cameron tells him when he finally manages to pull back.

Harry shakes his head. "He's some sort of saint, does charity balls for kids and the like. We would never work out. Can you imagine what would happen if they found out about me? About my job? He'd lose his funding."

"Drama queen," Kieran mock-whispers into Cameron's arm, biting down on the flesh moments later.

"Could you maybe just dial it down a bit?" Harry asks. "It's sickening."

"We aren't sickening," Cameron says, cradling Kieran's sculpted face in his hands and kissing him lightly. "We're an inspiration."

"You're both full of shit."

Cameron nods in the direction of the door. "Still think you wanna bang that."

Harry throws a napkin at him, mostly because Cameron has a point but doesn't need to know that.

They finish their after-work-after-party breakfast, but not before Charlie and Thomas get into a soggy napkin fight, the kind where they roll little pieces in their mouth and aim it at each others foreheads with their straws.

When the energy at work is just too much they get like this sometimes, wired and unwilling to go home after closing. They all need a different outlet then, go clubbing until the early morning hours, get pleasantly drunk in the short while they have between getting off work and the nightclub closing up. There's one just a few streets down and they head that way at least twice a week, walking the short distance while the energy lets them feel connected, while the club still pumps through their veins.

The dancing and shots had been fun, had settled Harry's churning mind, calmed his twitchy hands. Everyone else had enjoyed it, too, the banter now slowly drawing to an end as the boys laughingly gather all the napkin pieces on a plate.

But Louis just had to come to this coffee shop, unsettle him enough that he wants to go out again, dance until he's too tired to think.

He's just attracted to him, there's no shame in that. Louis is stunning, kind but fiercely loyal and the way he holds himself sometimes makes Harry wonder what he'd be like in bed, if he'd be all sweet and soft or rough and demanding.

He just needs to hook up with Louis, get him out of his system and preferably sooner than later. They'd have a grand time, a memorable evening neither would ever forget, he's sure of it.

Louis will just have to remove that stick from his arse and give in to the obvious attraction between them.

They pay and head outside, breaking off into smaller groups after quick goodbyes. He's too tired for the tube, hates the idea of being wedged in with the early morning crowd heading off to work. So he catches a cab instead and lets himself into his apartment after the third try, more tipsy than he'd thought.

It smells a bit stale, like it could do with a good airing out. He sets himself a mental reminder for tonight. There's no way he can sleep with an open window now, daytime traffic making it impossible for him to fall asleep.

Instead he undresses mechanically while the automatic blinds slide shut. When he'd been looking for an apartment his requirements hadn't been all that specific. He mostly needed a place to crash and store his stuff. Only two things he couldn't compromise on: the semi-close location to the club and the blinds.

By the time he throws his dirty clothes into the hamper and crawls under the covers, it's almost completely dark in his bedroom. Dark and blissfully quiet.

He'd splurged on his bed, too, the oversized monstrosity firm enough to support his back, cotton covers the softest he could find. It slides against his skin comfortingly and Harry snuggles deeper.

He very pointedly keeps his mind blank and falls asleep soon after, his dreams not quite as forgiving as his waking mind.

He wakes up to the ringing of his phone, the memory of Louis naked dissolving like mist.

"Hmm?"

"Did I wake you? Dude, it's two o'clock." Niall sounds indignant, the way he always gets when Harry's sleep schedule comes up.

"Went out last night," Harry mumbles, flopping onto his back. He does some very complicated calculations for this early in the morning and determines that just under six hours sleep is not enough. He longs for the days when hangovers were a foreign concept and he went to work with half the amount of sleep.

He squirms and groans pitifully. He needs coffee, a shower and maybe to get his life back on track.

"Well, hope you aren't hungover cause I'm ten minutes away and I have indian food."

Instead of turning, Harry's stomach just rumbles. "With naan bread?"

Niall just hangs up.

"Love you, too," he mumbles, still staring unseeing at his darkened ceiling. He just wants to turn over and sleep for another twelve hours. 

Only he can't, because the club is booked for a private party tonight. He has about two hours before be needs to leave, open up and organise the last bits and bobs. The private rooms need to be stocked with the requested drinks, the music needs a fine tune and he has to show his guys the pictures of the important people from the party, the ones every angel should pay special attention to.

He hates private parties with a vengeance, hates the extra work and thousands of things to sort out beforehand. But the money is good, staggering, so he makes due. Plus, it gives the club an air of exclusivity, which is better than any advertisement he can buy.

He sighs and rolls out of bed.

Niall is his best friend of many years, but even he doesn't need to see him like this. Oh, and he should probably get dressed, too.

By the time Niall arrives he's indeed both showered and dressed, sunlight streaming in through the opened blinds while Harry blearily sips his coffee.

"Freak," Niall says by way of greeting, shoving the bags onto the kitchen counter. "You can unpack while I use your loo. Last night's food doesn't seem to agree with me."

"Mm thanks. That's what I need to hear after waking up."

Niall takes off his jacket and blows him a kiss before walking off.

Harry pinches the jacket between his thumb and forefinger and hangs it up by the front door. He loves Niall and he loves Niall's cats, but he can make out at least five different types of cat hair on that jacket. He doesn't need that in his food.

That done, he busies himself unpacking the food, setting everything out nicely because he hates eating from the takeout boxes. He's using the new placemats his mum gave him, the elegant ones with a weighed down stainless steel edge, just because he's feeling fancy. Each curry gets scooped into its own bowl and the naan reheated inside the oven.

"Breakfast of champions," he says when Niall finally returns.

"That's right," Niall replies brightly, sitting down at his place. He snags some naan, blowing on his fingers when he burns them. "What're you having, then?"

"Ha ha," Harry says, not up for indulging him this early. Instead he digs in, his mood lifting with the very first bite.

The silence that follows is long and comfortable. Niall doesn't like to talk while eating -- it distracts him from chewing, or so he says -- and Harry is only starting to feel human again. Either way, it works out well for both of them. He's convinced that 80% of their friendship is based on the amiable way they eat their food together.

Harry heaps more curry onto his bread and takes a big, satisfying bite, happy in the knowledge that he could eat just about anything for breakfast. Muesli is for losers.

"So," Niall says eventually, leaning back and patting his stomach. "You gonna tell me about it or what?"

"Tell you about what," Harry asks, cool as a cucumber. Well, not really, but he tries really hard.

"You're mopey."

Harry doesn't look at him. "I am not."

"You haven't told me a single thing about what's happening at the club. And you usually don't shut up about it."

"I'm still waking up, don't expect miracles." Niall just looks at him until Harry caves. "Oh fine! There's this guy. He's piqued my interest."

"Ah," Niall says, nodding sagely. "And that's in conflict with your decision to live like a monk, gotcha."

"I've decided to not fall into another relationship because it's time consuming. There's a difference."

Niall snorts. "And you keep lying to yourself. We both know that’s just an excuse because you’ve been hurt. Ever since Darren, you haven’t opened up to anyone. You haven’t even dealt with it, really.”

Darren. Harry hasn’t heard his name spoken in weeks, hasn’t even thought much about him recently. The wound is still there though, smarts now it’s being poked at. And so what if he hasn’t really dealt with it? Not all damage cause by a previous relationship is meant to be examined and sorted through. He’s fine, he really is.

Niall seem to think otherwise. “And didn’t you move in with him five weeks after you met him? Told everyone he was the one.”

Harry puts down his fork, no longer hungry. He’d been so in love, the feeling too strong to contain so he’d told everyone, anyone that would listen. Only after Darren had broken it off, only after the weeks and weeks of crying on his couch and his mum and Gemma checking in on him had he understood. Love really does make you blind. Unfortunately for him, it had made him blind to the fact that he was the only one that invested in the relationship. Harry had been left to pick up not only the pieces of his own heart but his life as well. To this day he remembers the look on his mum’s face when he’d come clean, how much she had been hurting because her son was in pain. It’s a look he never wants to see on her face again.

“That had been a mistake,” is all he says.

Niall sighs and because he’s clearly a good choice as his best friend, he changes the subject. "How's your interest piqued, then?"

"He doesn't particularly like me."

Niall looks at him for a long moment.

Then he bursts out laughing, holding on to the edge of the table because his whole body is shaking so much from his belly-laughs. Harry grumbles at him until he gets himself under control, wiping wetness from the corner of his eyes. "Oh you," he wheezes, crinkles around his eyes still visible, "you're honestly something else."

"Why? It's normal to like the chase, I've heard. Isn't that like a tip in every Cosmo."

"How the fuck should I know, I have standards in what I read. And I meant that you're not made for smooth sailing. The moment your life calms down, you find something else, a new challenge to take on. It's like you're bored otherwise, that's why you've set your eyes on this guy. What's his name?"

"Louis," Harry sighs. And almost slaps himself for sounding like a goddamn Disney princess. "And you make me sound drama-hungry. I just think he's pretty."

"Please," comes the dismissive response. "You work with pretty people all night long, plus you aren't that shallow. The guy has set you a challenge and you can't not accept."

Harry isn't even subtle when he changes the subject. "How's the new cat?"

The change in Niall is almost instantaneous; he sits up straighter, his eyes shine and his entire face is animated. "She's doing wonderful! Meows at me until I pull out the drawer in the guest room, then she uses it as her bed. She's the sweetest."

It's a cheap trick, but nothing will distract Niall as much as his cats. "No problems with the other cats?"

"Nah. She was bothering Balu. She's just so tiny and playful, you know? Eventually he sat down on her and after that she kept her distance."

Harry thinks of Balu, Niall's veteran adoptee, a seriously overweight, orange-furred bundle of grump that weighs more than most newborn babies. "Clever kitten."

Niall nods, like a proud father. "That she is."

They fall silent after that, eventually clearing the table. Niall parks himself in front of the telly while Harry gets his things together.

"Want a lift?" Niall shouts from the couch.

"Yes, please."

When they're in his beat up City Golf smelling of wet cat hair and dorm room socks, Niall places his phone in the pull-out ashtray because he's too cheap to get something proper.

An idea strikes Harry and he opens Facebook on Niall's phone, searches for Louis Tomlinson.

"I'm friending that guy, okay? Tell me when he accepts the request, I wanna check out his photos."

"I'll talk to him, too."

"Please don't," Harry says, already regretting his choice of pressing send.

"Why not. I'll be stealthy. Like a Stealth Ninja of Love. Hah, get it?"

"You're a riot," Harry deadpans.

Niall nods in agreement and takes a right turn, coming to a sudden stop in front of the back entrance of the club. He hardly waits until both of Harry's feet are on the concrete and the car door closed before he speeds off, the sound of his broken exhaust trailing him long after he's out of sight.

Harry hasn't even got all the lights on inside when he gets the first text. It's Sophia, who has come down with some sort of stomach bug and therefore won't be able to bartend tonight. Harry would be mad, but she'd attached a pic and she looks utterly miserable in her light blue pyjamas with cartoon clouds scattered all over, her hair damp and matted, her gaze feverish. Instead of cursing his bad luck, he calls his fave health shop and has some chicken broth delivered to her place.

That done, he gets started.

  


+++

  


A couple of days later, he's stuck behind the bar.

Again.

It's always chaos when one of the bartenders calls in sick. And okay, so maybe having six separate bars in the club might be a bit excessive, but Harry feels it adds glamour to the place. Unfortunately, most of the angels don't have any experience working behind the bar, so he ends up there when one of the regular bartenders can’t make it.

"I should make a training seminar for you guys. I mean I could be doing important stuff while you bring the customers their drinks."

Cameron crosses his legs, balance effortless on the barstool, and takes a sip from his virgin mojito. "I am doing an important job."

"Yeah? And what would that be?"

He winks at two customers who've just come in, looking new and slightly shell-shocked at the decor and sheer size of the main room. Harry suppresses a pleased little smile. "I'm looking damn good, for one." Harry can't really object to that so he nods for Cameron to continue. "Also, no one would approach me if I'd be stuck behind the bar."

"Of course they would, that's what ordering drinks is all about."

Cameron rolls his eyes at Harry before letting his gaze trail up and down the newcomers suggestively. The more nervous one is blushing, but they're still heading towards him. "Approach me for a private dance, you twit." He slides off the barstool, eyes never leaving his prey.

He takes another sip from his drink, breaking eye contact only long enough to hand Harry his glass and whisper, "we all know that's where the real tips are. Why would I waste my time behind the bar if I could earn enough in tips in one night as other people earn all month?"

"You should be thinking of the good of the club," Harry mutters.

"Tell me that again," Cameron says, shifting the wings on his back, "when I've made those two into regulars by the end of the night."

And with that he saunters off, heading straight for them.

"Good, isn't he?" Kieran murmurs.

"Don't sneak up on a guy cutting lemons, what is wrong with you?" Harry clutches his hand to his heart, still holding the large knife he uses for chopping the fruit. "And shouldn't it bother you a bit more? I mean that is your boyfriend."

"Nah," Kieran says easily, parking his considerable bulk on the newly vacated barstool, the wings tiny compared to his shoulders. "He enjoys the attention. So do I, if I'm honest. And at the end of the day, he always comes home with me."

Harry hands him a non-alcoholic beer and then heads over to another customer. While filling that order, he wonders if he could ever be as calm about his boyfriend dancing for other people. He gets the appeal, but also suspects that his emotions would probably take over.

Once he's finished the drink and hands it over with a winning smile, he decides it's all a moot point, anyway. No more boyfriends in the foreseeable future.

The customer wants to talk and Harry is more than eager to comply. There's no one else besides Kieran anyway, and he's always interested in new people. This guy is tall and well muscled, the suit hanging off his shoulders perfectly tailored. He's flirting quickly and verbalising his interest shortly thereafter. This guy doesn't want a dance, he wants to take Harry out for dinner.

"You don't even know me," Harry says with an easy grin, rearranging the glasses in front of him.

"I know your name is Harry, I know you serve every customer with a smile and I know the other employees like you because several have been over here to talk to you."

Harry mulls that over. "Well okay. I don't know anything about you."

"We can change that.” He says easily, “I'm Nathan, I write for a living and every time I come here, you’re here as well. If that doesn’t mean we’re meant to be, I don’t know what is.” He’s clearly joking, his charming smile stopping this from being creepy. “And you caught my attention the first time already, but it always takes me a bit to work up my guts. So. How about that coffee?"

Harry smiles wider, knows he's already way too flirty with Nathan, a customer, but does it anyway. It feels good. Fun, the kind he's been denying himself for far too long now. Maybe that's why he's got this weird Louis fixation. "Usually, I would say yes," he gives Nathan a slow once-over. "But I can't right now."

"Oh." He sounds genuinely disappointed. "Boyfriend?"

Harry tips his head back and laughs. "Oh, no. Unfortunately I have no time for either a boyfriend or dating right now."

"Yeah? Do they keep you chained behind that bar?" He leans over the counter, like he's looking for the shackle around Harry's ankle.

"Nah," Harry says easily. "It's all self-imposed."

"Not even a little bit of a date then? I promise you'll enjoy it."

Harry considers it, just for a second. And then he smiles, wide and guileless and lets him down gently. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Thankfully, Nathan's not one of those guys that can't take no for an answer. He just shrugs and places his business card -- no tip, Harry can appreciate that in this particular situation -- on the table.

"If you ever change your mind," he says while getting up, brushing the wrinkles from his suit and throwing Harry a wink, "call me, yeah?"

Harry nods, shoving the card into his back pocket.

"What's up with you," Kieran asks when Harry finally has exhausted all things to clean on that side of the bar and wanders back. "Since when do you turn down actual dates?"

"Dunno." Harry shrugs, speaking truthfully. "Didn't feel right."

"Didn't seem psycho to me."

Harry laughs. "No, he seemed nice. I just. I don't know."

"Your prerogative," Kieran shrugs and gets up, a filthy grin on his face when he sees Cameron coming down the stairs, flushed from his dance, radiant and full of energy. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think my boyfriend needs my attention."

Cameron barrels into him, laughing and groping as they disappear through the staff door through the back, where the beer and other drinks are stored.

Harry sticks his head through the door, keeping his eyes firmly shut. "If I find come on anything, you're both fired."

Cameron half chuckles and half moans. "Don't worry. We both swallow."

"I didn't need to know that!" Harry shouts back. All he gets in response is a deep groan, so he pulls the door shut and tries not to let his imagination take the best of him.

He can't really afford to fire either of them, but they don't need to know that.

  


+++

  


Niall is a great best friend, which is probably why Harry has put up with him for so long. He's funny, he's the life of the party without being obnoxious, and he is the least judgemental person Harry has ever met. Absolute shit in decisions under pressure, but then you can't have everything.

What he isn't known for, is actually going through with one of his harebrained schemes, such as the Stealth Ninja of Love idea.

In fact, Harry had all but forgotten about Niall sprouting that insanity weeks before.

It's Monday night and therefore his evening off, the club closed for the cleaning crew to go through everything with a fine-toothed comb and catch any crumbs (or other, more unmentionable substances) which they might have missed during their daily rounds. Each week Harry painstakingly draws up a staff schedule for the dancers, only to be edited 48 times because someone needs a day off here or has a waxing appointment there. Even though they have this rotating schedule, it's still nice to give the boys an extra day off, just to keep morale high. And he needs a day to recuperate himself.

He likes to stay in on Mondays, likes to wake up and put on nothing but soft trackies and lounge around all day, getting nothing done apart from a shitton of relaxing.

So far today, the most tiring thing he's done was order a new pair of shoes online and dance around his kitchen to Beyoncé while cutting vegetables and preparing several meals now cooling on the counter. His night-time schedule is bad enough for his metabolism as it is. He doesn't need to further hurt his body with heavy meals because he's too tired or busy to make anything that might resemble a balanced meal.

It's past one in the morning and he's just considering calling it an early night when he gets a twitter notification on his phone. He might or might not have found Louis' twitter linked on his Facebook and maybe accidentally turned on notifications after following him from an account he'd created just for that purpose.

The caption reads _LADS!_ and the photo is -- a selfie of Louis and Niall?

Harry sits up straighter and turns up the brightness on his phone. They're at some club, people scattered across the back of the photo. Niall is in charge of taking the selfie, so he doesn't notice Louis' bowed head.

A feeling of foreboding settles in the center of Harry's stomach when he follows Louis' line of sight. He's holding a very familiar phone, one with the edge dented because Niall has managed to drop it twice so far.

Shit.

Harry tries to calm down. Sure, there's loads of stuff on Niall's phone, not all of it blackmail material involving Harry. It's just that, well, there's loads of that, too. There's pictures of Halloween and a very drunk Harry doing unmentionable things to a foam hand. There's that picture of Harry falling asleep on Niall's couch, drooling onto his own shoulder.

Harry presses his eyes closed and swallows thickly. Niall wouldn't let Louis go through his pictures, right? He'd have noticed after taking the selfie and snatched his phone out of Louis' hands. He wouldn't have given Louis ammunition against him.

Right.

The only reason why Niall is even hanging out with Louis, is for Harry's sake. He's clearly drunk in the picture, but he wouldn't forget the reason for being there. He wouldn't throw Harry under the bus like that.

Harry opens his Whatsapp chat with Niall and quickly types a message.

_You should take better care of your phone_

Niall comes online within seconds, the status changing to typing almost immediately. Harry breathes a sigh of relief, right up until he receives the message.

_niall cant come to the phone rn curly hes drunk and lying in some girls lap_

Harry is already contemplating how he's going to separate Louis from Niall's phone -- he's not above jumping in a cab and heading over to wherever they are to do so in person -- when a second text arrives.

_oh and one quick question_

The online status disappears and Harry is left to bite his nails for several minutes. He doesn't want to reply, hopes Louis is as drunk as Niall and has maybe forgotten about Niall's phone and all the incriminating information in contains.

He's about to thank all his lucky stars, when another message arrives.

_so curly ... whats halo ?_

Harry stares at his phone. For a second, he actually contemplates taking their website down for just a day or two, but besides that being absolutely insane, it's also impractical. And that's besides all the random mentions and references they get from other sites. His picture isn't on there, thank god, but his name is listed in other places if someone is just willing to dig deep enough.

Louis would take that information and run with it, hold it over him forever.

Harry sighs, scrubs his face and locks his phone.

He's going to fucking kill Niall. He's going to wait until he's mostly over his hangover, because he should definitely suffer through that, and then he's going to kill him.

There's absolutely no doubt in his mind that Louis will figure it out. With the club's name and that general curiosity of his, it's only a matter of time until he finds out, and judging by their previous interactions, he's going to enjoy rubbing it in Harry's face.

Harry very nearly flings his phone across the room. Instead he gets up and heads over to his laptop.

He isn't tired anymore, he might as well get some work done, send out a few request for quotes regarding the expansion of the upper floors of the club. He has this idea of more fully integrating the private rooms into the general layout, but for that he needs a bigger incentive for the customers without an all-access pass to wander upstairs.

Maybe he'll have that huge fish tank installed there put some fancy fish and corals in. It's only collecting dust in storage right now, so he might as well put it to use.


	2. Chapter 2

Handing over his damp coat gets Louis a pink casino chip in exchange. The number 28 is written across its surface, right underneath a glittery-gold halo. On the back there are wings. Of course there are. Because apparently, it's that kind of establishment.

Establishment. Yes, that's the perfect word. It implies more grandeur than premises, hints at an exotic history. Place of business, while accurate, is just too dry and frankly boring. This isn't just a strip joint, this is a gentlemen's club. A very gay one.

"You gonna spring for a premium lounge? Or just the standard admission?"

Louis turns to Nick, dragging his eyes away from the long and dimly lit corridor, walls lined with suede drapes. Honestly. This is exactly the sort of place Harry would work at. "What's the difference?"

Nick claps him on the back, grinning wolfishly. "It’ll get you almost any private room upstairs, or one of the booths, where you can look down over the railing and still enjoy the performances on stage. You just have -- ah, more privacy, if you know what I mean."

He slings his arm around Louis' shoulder and steers them down the hallway, their shoes sinking into the deep carpet. There's a fit guy waiting at a little reception area. He's got a pair of wings strapped to his back, the white feathers offset by the deep green of the huge door beside him.

"If you go for a champagne ticket though, then you get it all."

Louis squares his shoulders. He’s come here with a specific purpose in mind, wants to see where Harry works. He’s got the money, he might as well go for the option that will leave him with the most freedom to move around. He isn’t particularly interested in any of the other privileges he gets with that deal, but he’s polite enough to ask, "like what?"

"Yeah you know. Free choice of any upstairs room, obviously, free choice of anyone to go with you." Nick turns his predatory grin to the guy they just reached. "Isn't that right, love?"

A flirty yet professional smile appears on the guys face and he nods. He’s good-looking, his chest heavily muscled, tattooed and oiled, glinting enticingly in the dim lighting. He looks vaguely familiar, but Louis can’t really place him.

"If you order a champagne pass with me, you will indeed have free choice of any upstairs room, as well as anyone that catches your fancy and is wearing a pair of these wings." He turns, displaying his in greater detail. "Any available dances are included, but please remember, we do not allow touching here, especially when it comes to the private dances. And absolutely no soliciting our staff. Tonight, you'll have a choice of over fifteen angels. Should I put you down for a champagne pass?"

"How much is that?" Louis asks.

"That'd be twenty seven hundred for each of you, payable by card upfront. That price includes what we've already covered, as well as complimentary drinks from any of the bars on the first and second floor. If you're looking for something more exclusive in terms of beverages, I can recommend the executive bar on the third floor. The alcohol from there is not included in the price, but we did just receive a particularly nice shipment of some 1998 Dom Pérignon."

Nick nudges his side. "Come on, big shot. It's not like you can't afford it. Or are you getting cold feet?"

"Just deciding if your sorry arse is worth almost three grand."

Nick tips his head back and laughs. "Please. You know it is.”

Louis rolls his eyes because Nick is such a liar. He’ll probably disappear within seconds of them going inside and Louis will be left to his own devices. But maybe that’s why he’s chosen Nick over Zayn for this little outing.

Also, wouldn’t really be fair to bring a customer who is hotter than the staff.

He turns to the guy -- he can't call him an angel, that's just ridiculous -- and says, "two champagne passes then."

He gets a large smile and a one-sided contract to look over and sign. He reads it in great detail. “You record your customers?” he asks, eyebrows rising.

“Yes. But if you behave yourself you have nothing to worry about. And if there’s no incident, everything gets deleted within a week.”

Louis doesn’t like the sound of that, can see loopholes big enough to drive trucks through. Not that it’s any of his business, or that he plans on doing much more than having a drink here. He forks over his credit card, sliding it over the smooth wooden surface of the tabletop. It gets him another professional smile, along with a not so subtle once-over. The guy isn't his type and the sales pitch is clearly done, so he merely acknowledges it with a curt nod.

"You're here quite early, the acts on the main stage won't start for another hour. But if you have any requests, just let one of the angels know. And of course someone is always dancing on the smaller stages."

Payment handled, the guy wraps a silky gold band around Louis' wrist, making sure it sits properly. "Now remember," he says, still holding Louis' hand and waiting for Louis to look at him. "Any room, any angel, any offered dances. Behave yourself and we'll take you to heaven."

Louis chuckles at the cheesy line and watches Nick get his own bracelet, unabashedly checking out the guy. After a quick wink he lets go and steps back, pushing open the door beside him.

A huge floor opens up, lighting colourful and subdued music filling every corner. Several raised platforms are scattered throughout the room, some with a pole, some without. A long stage spans across one side, coming to a point towards the middle, opposite the largest of the three bars he can make out from here.

After muscle guy's comment about the time, Louis hasn't expected quite so many people. Guys in suits and other expensive evening wear are scattered around, different coloured bands on their wrists. Groups of five to ten are seated around the smaller stages, watching guys with angel wings dance to the music, their movements fast but still sensual. Subtle smoke from a machine gives the room a surreal edge, supplying the lights a surface to refract off of.

Nick heads to the nearest bar, Louis following close behind. This is a bit more than he’d expected, even for the hefty price-tag, so some alcohol would make a pleasant distraction.

It takes exactly five minutes before Nick is showing his wristband to a curly haired boy and heading upstairs with his drink in hand. And Louis hasn't even had time to order yet, too wide-eyed as he takes in his surroundings. It's not like he expected Nick to stick around, but some company at the beginning would have been nice.

One of the strippers -- angels, whatever -- comes up to him. He’s tall and lean, shirt bare to expose his pierced nipples. “Hey luv,” he murmurs, taking the offered glass of water from the bartender with a distracted nod before his eyes finish their perusal of Louis’ body. “You got everything you need?”

“I do,” Louis assures him, not unkindly. This is his job after all. “For now. Going to relax a bit first, have a drink at the bar.”

“Of course,” murmurs the guy, dragging his fingers over Louis’ arm as he pulls away with a smirk. “I’m Charlie, by the way. Do ask for me when you’re done with that drink, yeah?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Louis says over a laugh.

Once he’s alone again, Louis gets comfortable on the bar stool, feet swaying while his eyes scan the room for Harry. To the left of him, the bar is filling up, customers and dancers intermingling, one pair breaking off and heading upstairs.

In a rather surprising twist of events, his bartender isn't another torso flashing guy with wings, but a brunette girl in a tank top and jeans.

"The pay is good and I hardly get hit on," she says.

Louis blinks. "What?"

She flips her hair over her shoulder and smiles easily. "You were wondering why I work at a gay strip club and I answered, so we got that out of the way. Now you can order and I can do my job."

Right then and there, Louis falls a little bit in love with her. Amidst the oiled skin and bodies honed in hour-long stretches at the gym, her understated but still fashionable style appeals to him more than anything. Her attitude seals the deal. He’d like nothing more than to hire her for his charity work. Self-confident yet flirty goes over a treat with basically anyone, she’d rake in donations from stiff old farts that are an absolute nightmare to convince. When it comes to the kinds of people Louis can talk into giving money to charity, old straight dudes seldom make the cut. "Does it pay well?"

She just looks at him. "What can I get you, hun."

He waves his hand vaguely, knows a lost cause when he sees it, but unwilling to give up quite yet. "Surprise me. Now, does the bartending pay well... uhm, what's your name?"

"Sophia." She gets out a mixer and starts pouring various liquids into it. She looks at him critically. "And it's not a pick-up line, you're too gay for that."

"Thanks,” is all Louis replies with.

She shrugs. "I call it like I see it. Still can't figure out what your spiel is, though."

"I organise charity events and I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character. Can see lots of older guys just throwing their money at you. And you wouldn’t work on a volunteer basis, you’d get paid." He slides his business card across to her.

She cuts him a sharp look, like she's trying to figure him out before stuffing the card in her back pocket. "Well, that has to be the weirdest proposal I’ve gotten in here. And thanks, I guess? I’ll have a look at it. But fair warning, I like my job."

She sets a long glass in front of him. Louis stares at it for a moment. "Is that an umbrella?"

"Well spotted."

"And a piece of pineapple?"

"Right again."

He looks at the concoction some more, tilts his head. "It's almost rainbow coloured."

"Fruit juice and food dye."

He nods and pulls the glass closer, taking a careful sip through the wide straw. "It's not that bad," he says, smacking his lips.

Sophia is already cleaning her work area, but that comment gives her pause. "Gee, thanks."

Louis sits up straighter. "No, I mean -- this isn't what I normally drink."

"You keep telling yourself that."

God, Louis loves her. "Hey, you're supposed to be nice to the customers."

She snorts and throws a dish towel over her shoulder. "Actually, my job mainly consists of preparing drinks. It's the angels' job to be nice to you."

He takes another sip, secretly pleased at the sweet taste. "Isn't it weird calling them angels? I mean, it's cute but also some unattainable standard, isn't it? And honestly, who really is an angel in this day and age?"

Sophia cocks her hip, hands resting firmly on her waist. "I've been working here for eleven months now. Can I tell you one of the things I’ve learned so far?"

Louis leans forward, intrigued for what's coming. "'Course."

She leans in too, mock-whispering from behind a perfectly manicured hand. "The guys talking to the female bartender in this place are one of three things: either they're straight, they're in love and got dragged here anyway, or they're being a chickenshit." She wipes down the counter with the towel before looking back up. "You aren't in the first or the second category."

Louis' eyebrows shoot up. "Are you calling me scared?"

"I believe that's what I'm doing, yes."

"I'm not scared. I'm just not drunk enough. Also, the booze here is free."

"So are the lap dances. Private ones, seeing as you've got an all-access pass right there." She motions to his wrist band. A customer a few feet down catches her attention, and she gives him a raised index finger in the universal sign of just a minute. "Have you actually looked yet? Seen someone you like?"

"God, you're like my mum when we're out together," he grumbles, pulling on the straw again.

Sophia just snorts, pushing away from the counter. "Just take a look around, yeah? Tell me your top three when I get back, Mr. Reserved."

Before he can object to the insult, she's sauntering to her other customer, greeting him with a professional smile and an off-handed wave in his direction. She reminds him of Fizzy in her mannerisms, in her dismissive way of dealing with him, to the extent that he has to stop himself from sticking out his tongue at her. Maybe he should introduce them. There's an age difference, but Fizzy has always made easy friends with people a bit older.

Resigned to his fate, he turns around on the barstool, using the bar to lean against while he surveys the room and sips his drink. It's really ridiculously delicious, and packs quite a punch.

More of the smaller stages are now occupied by dancers, their captive audience standing or sitting around, eyes fixed on their fluid movements. A guy wearing nothing but tiny, sparkling Speedos and his wings is kneeling in front of a group of guys, friends, judging by their easy banter. Not moving his legs besides spreading them slightly, he leans back until he’s lying down flat on his back on the stage. His body never stops moving, wings trapped beneath his back with all eyes focused on him.

Just off to the side, a dancer’s pair of wings obscures a customer's face. From their body language it's clear they're flirting, maybe even negotiating what's about to happen next. Wherever Louis sees a group of customers, an employee isn't far away. Like they know their job, circulate the room, make sure everyone is getting their money's worth.

He turns in his seat to look along the other side of the bar.

There's two guys there, and Louis knows them both. There’s boy toy Jason looking perky and twinky. Harry is standing kitty-corner to him, stood between two bar stools, leaning on the counter. His long legs are encased in tight white skinnies, one knee bent and foot balanced on the tip of the toe of a glittery golden boot. His legs are displayed nicely, thighs and bum a clear indication that Harry likes to work out. He's wearing some kind of flowy shirt halfway unbuttoned and several pieces of jewellery.

He moves, leaning forward onto the bar on his elbows, long strands of his wavy brown hair fall into his grinning face, eyes sparkling as he talks to Jason avidly.

Louis swallows dryly and takes another sip of his drink.

Well, shit. Somehow, Harry is more gorgeous than he remembers, the surroundings just enhancing that fact. For some reason, Louis had expected him to look bored, maybe weary, while working. He’s not even sure why, seeing as Harry’s persona has given him absolutely no indication for it. Maybe it’s his own messed-up belief of what point a person must have reached in their life to become a stripper.

Harry looks happy, content, here. He looks, well… he looks right at home, flirting effortlessly, arms gesticulating to draw even more attention to himself. And he’s certainly getting attention, not only from Jason. No, several customers with varying shades of wristbands have their eyes trained on him. And Harry is just ignoring it all, seemingly oblivious as his entire being is focused on Jason.

There’s a pang of something in his chest. It’s not jealousy, because Harry has made it very clear they could have their fun together. Only Louis doesn’t want that, knows that if he sleeps with Harry, he’ll crave that undivided attention. He can practically watch Jason grow under Harry’s attention, can see his confidence expand.

Louis knows he can be selfless, knows he enjoys helping others, needs it to feel balanced and happy, himself. But he also knows, fiercely and irrevocably, that he’d be selfish when it came to Harry’s attention. He wants Harry on so many levels, has wanted him since he saw him dancing without a worry with another man at his sister's wedding, even if he hadn’t known it then. He just wants him for more than one night.

Right.

Time to make it happen, then.

He unbuttons his own shirt collar and readjusts his form fitting blazer, the one with shortened sleeves to expose his wrists. He’s got nice wrists, might as well show them off. Plus, he’d opted for his own set of skinny jeans this morning, keeping it casual besides the pressed black shirt.

Still adjusting his clothes, he watches Jason remove his wings and hand them over to Harry, who slips them on easily, shrugging his shoulders to make them fall into place before pushing off the bar. Still talking animately to Jason, he weaves effortlessly between tables filled with customers, most of which are more interested in the way he slinks through their midst than in the dancers on stage. There’s a certain powerful grace to the way he moves, holding the wings out of harm's way as he heads back to Jason, his smile never wavering.

Harry must have been saddled with training the new guy because he nods encouragingly before handing the wings back to Jason. Harry leans over the bar, both feet momentarily off the ground, his cute little bum forming a lovely curve against the mirrored wall behind. Harry pops back up with a tray and some glasses, both of which he hands over to Jason, upping the difficulty level of Jason’s own trip through the tables.

Louis waits patiently for just the right moment to make his move. The second Harry gets the wings back, he pushes off the bar and heads in their direction quickly.

“What a coincidence,” he drawls, delighting only slightly when Harry flinches at his voice. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Louis,” Harry says, recovering quickly. There’s a slight look of discomfort on his face, though he hides it quickly.

“That was quite the show.”

Jason is shifting from anxiously from foot to foot behind Harry and Louis ignores him completely, doesn’t really need to pull someone else into this.

For his part, Harry just looks at him with an expression Louis can’t quite make out. There’s a bit of shame, maybe, lots of confusion all seasoned with some resignation. “What do you want,” Harry asks him, not unkindly, but with the sort of voice that states quite clearly he wishes Louis were anywhere but here.

He lets his eyes drift over the room and grins lazily before fixing his hair, making sure Harry sees his bracelet. “Just enjoying the evening, seeing what this place has to offer.”

Harry blanches, a thrill shooting through Louis at that. He doesn’t want to humiliate Harry, that’s not the kind of person he is, but it does feel horribly good to finally get under his skin. This perfect guy who’s so hell bent on not accepting a no from Louis and making it so difficult with being so damn attractive.

“Well,” Harry starts, clearly torn. “If you’d want I could, like, show you around?”

He slides closer, his palm ghosting over Harry’s arm. He wants to touch Harry, of course he does, but he also wants to remind Harry what he’s missing by being a stubborn prick.

“That’s kind of you, but I can see you’re busy. Don’t worry, I’ll find my own way around.” He lets a smile slip onto his face, leaning in like he’s sharing some secret. “I did meet Charlie back there. He was at the coffee shop with you the other day, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s eyes travel slowly across the room, as though he’s looking for Charlie now.

Louis smiles brightly. “Well. You have a lovely evening then. I’m going to get myself another drink.”

Harry nods, but he looks distracted, eyes still scanning the room when Louis walks away, back to the bar to order another drink. This time however, he doesn’t turn his back to the room, but rather sits with an open body language facing the going-ons.

It doesn’t take long.

“Hey there,” says a pretty guy with wings on his back, someone Louis hasn’t seen before. “Anything you need?”

Louis smiles at him widely. “Just enjoying the view for now, thanks. I think I might go for a private dance next.”

The guy leans on the bar, running a hand down Louis’ arm. A thrill shoots through him, not from the touch, but from Harry’s scowl, clearly directed to him from the other end of the bar. “Yeah? Have you made your choice yet?”

“I have,” Louis says, sliding off the stool. He takes a quick look around and finds a new guy in wings leaning into Harry, telling him something while pointing over his shoulder. Perfect. “Could you ask that guy over there for me? The one with all the muscle, next to the one with the curly hair? I’ll wait upstairs in the first free room I find.”

The guy sighs dramatically yet good-naturedly. “I can do that.”

Louis thanks him before heading upstairs. It’s a precarious plan and if it backfires it’ll be rather embarrassing for him. The last thing he wants to do is explain to the guy that he’s changed his mind, isn’t really here for a dance at all.

The first room he pops his head into has a circular sofa and a small dance stage before it, a pole at its center. Soft beams of light just barely illuminate the water feature trickling away to one side. Because what you really need in a room like this is a calming, room-sized waterfall.

Four pearlescent champagne flutes are waiting on the small side table. All in all, the room gives off a recklessly extravagant air while still somehow managing to be cozy.

Louis sits down, rather excited now to finally see their little game come to an end. If Harry doesn’t show, he clearly couldn’t care less who Louis sees naked. If he does show however, well, then maybe Louis’ endeavour won’t be completely useless.

The door opens and a pretty guy with a wide smile waves at him. Louis has never seen him before. "Hi," he says and steps inside, the wings on his back bigger than the rest he's seen so far. He's muscled but not overtly so, his blond hair falling into his face. "Can I get you anything? Besides the champagne?"

"I’m good, thanks. I’m just waiting for a dance."

The guy chuckles, "yes, someone else called dibs or I would so offer my services."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Dibs?"

"Yeah, you know," he says a bit awkwardly, quickly changing the subject, "so, can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you."

The guy nods and departs and Louis takes a glass of champagne even though he's going to have a hangover from hell. Might as well make the most of it. The edge of his jeans is digging into his hips, so he shifts, trying to get more comfortable.

While waiting he checks his emails and answers three of the more urgent ones. By the time he's finished, the second flute in his hand is almost empty. How long has it been? Fifteen, twenty minutes? Just as the thought crosses his mind that Harry is somehow having him on, the lights in the room dim. Louis sits up straighter.

A side door opens, silhouetting a tall guy against the light outside, wings perched perfectly on his back.

Louis smiles wide.

The door shuts softly and Harry saunters into the room, his walk confident and his head held high.

The knowledge of what he does to people is clearly not lost on him and Louis likes that, likes the self-assurance, the almost cocky way Harry is swaying his hips.

"So," Harry starts, dragging the word out. With one fluid movement he slides onto the couch besides Louis, arm over the backrest extended so far it’s almost touching Louis’ shoulder. “You want a dance?”

His smile is slow but genuine. “You came.”

There’s a quick pressing together of Harry’s lips before he looks up with a small frown. That’s right. Not quite as clever as he might have thought. Harry clears his throat. “Yeah, so, Kieran can’t dance right now.”

“What about Charlie?”

“What about him?”

“If Kieran can’t, I think I’d like Charlie to dance for me.”

The way Harry grits his teeth is pretty funny. “Charlie can’t, sorry.”

“Well what about --”

“Look,” Harry says, cockiness replaced with slight annoyance. “If you want a dance, you’ll get a dance.”

“From you.”

“Yes.”

“The one that called dibs.”

For a split second Harry’s facade cracks and Louis can see a flash of irritation before he gets himself back under control. "I did."

“That’s rather possessive of you. Not sure your boss would be very happy with you right now.”

“Ah,” says Harry. He unfolds his ridiculously long legs, gold boots flashing, and gets up in one smooth motion. He stands before Louis and leans down to grip the sofa on either side of him, arms bracketing him in.

He leans in close and whispers, “and that’s exactly where you’re wrong, love. I own this place. And I say if you’re getting a dance from anyone here, it will definitely be me.”

Louis gapes, mouth hanging open unattractively before he reminds himself to close it again.

He’d expected a lot of things. This isn’t one of them. “This is your place?” he asks and his voice is too soft, intrigued, while Harry just stands there, looming over him.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I might not have finished Uni, but I know how to run a business.”

Words don’t come, and it’s not because Louis had doubted Harry’s ability. He had however underestimated him. That doesn’t happen often. “That explains your clothes,” he says, still staring at him this close up, at the way he’s just looking at him, gaze almost lazy yet the intent clearly visible.

“I’m glad you like my clothes,” Harry whispers, sliding his arms further along the couch until he’s speaking directly into Louis’ ear. “Would you like me to take them off?”

It’s so easy to get lost in his eyes, in that look. Like everyone, Louis likes being the center of someone’s universe, and Harry can deliver that with a single glance.

Sometimes, life isn’t fair.

“I’m not interested in only one night,” he says, just to make sure to get this point across.

Harry doesn’t sigh, but Louis just knows he wants to, can see it when he pulls back and doesn’t look at him. With the help of one hand he easily jumps onto the small stage, the wings on his back making an eery imitation of a bird spreading its wings in flight. Then he straightens slowly, sensuously, his hand automatically grabbing for the pole in the center.

There’s so much to look at; his thigh muscles flexing under the white denim, his bicep straining, the way his long hair falls into his eyes. Louis stares, riveted, as he swings around it just once, like he's testing the sturdiness of the construction.

“What’s wrong with a one-night stand?”

“Nothing,” Louis makes himself say, ungluing his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “But I’d like to think I’ve grown out of it. At least I hope.”

Harry angles his body back while still holding on to the pole with both hands. When he smiles, he looks more like a kid on the playground, gleeful and excited, instead of seductive and professional. “Why would you ever grow out of having sex?”

Louis shifts on the couch, trying to get his control back and shaking his head. “Never said that.”

Harry slides the pole between his legs, subtly rubbing his crotch against it while softly swaying his hips to the music. “You should make an exception then. We’d be good together.”

And Louis will not rise to that, he will not, makes a dismissive gesture instead. “No doubt. But it’s not happening, so you can stop dancing now.”

“But I haven’t even started yet.” And it’s adorable, hopeful and huffy all in one and Louis really, really wants him. He just needs to hold back a bit more, convince Harry that he does too and hope that it doesn’t backfire, like making Zayn his fake boyfriend had.

The hop off the stage isn’t really graceful, but that thought dissolves like smoke in the breeze when Harry proceeds to climb right into Louis’ lap.

His muscles lock, frozen into place as Harry’s bum settles on his thighs. He grits out between clenched teeth, “what are you doing? The rules state there’s no touching allowed.”

Harry smoothes down Louis’ shirt, large hands warm even through the fabric. He leans in, his lips brushing Louis’ ear. “That only applies to the customers. Why? Do you mind?”

And it’s both hot and infuriating, how he sounds so in control, the way he looks at Louis with a goddamn twinkle in his eyes, like Louis is nothing but a prize to be won. Something rises inside of Louis then, his competitive side, or maybe his pride. He shakes his head and forces his muscles to relax.

He doesn’t reach out to touch, even though he dearly wishes to. But he smiles up at Harry sweetly, giving him a moment to take in that expression. When he speaks, his voice is anything but sweet. “If we ever have sex,” he whispers and, since he’s forbidden to touch, drags his teeth over his own bottom lip. Slowly, he takes in every curve and hard plane of Harry’s body. “It’s because I know you’ll fall in love with me.”

Harry’s disbelieving eyebrow climbs up his forehead. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

Louis nods. “I am.”

Harry wriggles in his lap, like he can’t not rub their bodies together. “That sounds boring.”

“Love is boring?”

Harry shrugs and while he doesn’t show it, Louis gets the sense he’s uncomfortable. It’s not that Harry isn’t interested in love, no, he’s hiding something else. “Love is more than a fleeting attraction.”

It’s a clumsy diversion, but Louis allows it, plays along with the script because it’s clear Harry isn’t ready to share quite yet. “Fleeting attraction? Ouch.”

Harry gets up, smiles enticingly. “One step at a time, right?”

“Couldn’t agree more, Curly.”

And with that Harry gets back on stage, a sure hand grabbing the pole this time while he adjusts the wings. “And first step, I think, should involve you watching me strip.”

It’s adorable and maybe a bit hot, the way Harry apparently thinks getting naked will entice Louis to drop his standards. It’s also not going to happen. If Harry thinks a bit of flirting and showing some skin can change his mindset so readily, he’s got another thing coming.

Louis leans back, props one ankle on the opposite knee and gives Harry an intense stare. Long after Harry starts to fidget and just before he opens his mouth to say something, Louis uses his index finger to draw a lazy circle in the air. "Give us a spin then."

Harry drops his gaze immediately, but not fast enough to hide his pleased expression. He does as asked and resumes walking around the pole, his stride long and purposeful, one hand still holding on tight and making a faint squeaking sound against the metal. His grip on the pole is so firm, he’s leaning his body outward while his bicep bulges under the weight.

Deceptively slow, he picks up speed until he finally tenses his arm and lifts his feet off the ground, airborne for almost two revolutions.

It’s not easy to damp down on his instinctual reaction, but Louis manages to keep his relaxed posture, eyes languidly trailing up and down Harry’s body as he navigates about the small stage. His moves are strong, a certain type of coiled up energy hiding just beneath the surface, one he softens with the way he holds his other hand out gently, his curls trailing behind, offset by the whiteness of the wings. He really looks like an angel, dressed almost completely in white and gold from head to toe, with his curls and his cherubic smile.

His eyes, on the other hand, hint at whispered secrets, at late night thoughts and a promise of pleasure he intends to keep.

Everything about him right then screams powerful, in control, sure of every step he takes.

It's heady to know Louis is able to command that power, direct it with a few well-chosen words.

And he wants to know the extent of it, wants to know its boundaries, wants to know where he ends and Harry begins, if they overlap.

"Unbutton your shirt," he says, voice purposefully rough though it doesn’t take much.

Satisfaction fills him when Harry’s entire body reacts to his words with a slight tightening of muscles and a definite hitch to his breath.

There’s a certain awkwardness to Harry sometimes, like the way Louis' words make him stop in his tracks so suddenly. He doesn't try to hide them though, these moments of imperfection, seems to revel in the fact that they afford him more scrutiny, his little oddities just another way to draw people in, to get their attention, something he clearly enjoys.

And he's got Louis' full attention, there’s no denying it. And if every downstairs customer would join them here now, he'd have each and every one of theirs, too.

Louis is inappropriately glad about that; it makes him feel less head-over-heels and more, well, human.

But he pushes those thoughts aside and concentrates on Harry instead, catches himself feeling endeared instead of aloof when Harry just stands there and opens his shirt, dance forgotten, big hands fiddling with the delicate buttons in a shockingly efficient manner. He’s clearly improvising this entire routine, which doesn't distract from the fact that, whatever he’s selling, Louis is buying.

He waits patiently, shifting subtly at the growing tightness in his jeans. Staying quiet isn’t easy but still outweighed by his curiosity in observing Harry’s next move. There’s a strong possibility he’ll take his shirt off completely, or maybe unbutton his jeans. Both options have promise, even though neither were stated explicitly.

As it turns out, Harry does neither, opting instead for the third option. Once his shirt hangs down his torso, wide stripe of tattooed skin bared, he returns to Louis’ previous instruction and twirls around the pole. The movement causes the shirt to flap open, revealing at times the soft pudge around his hips before falling back into place and showing nothing but his lightly muscled stomach and chest.

Throughout it all, Harry’s expression is calm, like he’s concentrating on his dance and isn’t bothered one bit by being observed so closely. Quite the opposite, as Louis’ watchful gaze seems to spur him on, like he genuinely enjoys the attention.

Another little hip shimmy and Harry turns away, facing the pole, toned arse suddenly the center of Louis’ universe. He doesn’t even pretend the image isn’t calling forth several ideas of what to do to it. Give it a good hard smack for one, jeans and all. But he can’t, isn’t allowed, and it takes biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from reaching out.

“You look good up there,” he says instead, because he needs to say something before the tension rips him to shreds.

Harry cranes his neck to look at him, smile just peeking out over the edge of the wings. “I’m glad you like it so far, then. Like your eyes on me.”

Or his hands. Yes, he definitely wants his hands on Harry, slide them over his collarbones, down his chest but skirting the rapid rhythm of his heart, aiming for the nipples instead, down over his belly, warm and tight, further to -- right. Louis sits on his hands, thighs firm and grounding.

Harry seems more focused now as he grips the pole with both hands and leans his torso back, knees bent and bracketing the pole until he's looking at Louis upside down. "Want more than your eyes on me,” he says in an eery copy of Louis’ thoughts. From this angle he can see one of Harry's nipples, the shirt pulled aside to expose the little nub. Louis wants to lick it. Or maybe bite it, until it’s swollen and red. “Your hands, your mouth. Your -- god."

Louis looks at his long hair, curls swaying with his movements. It’s mesmerising. He stares at Harry’s eyes instead, ask softly, "my what?”

Harry pulls himself up again, shaking his head and biting his lip. “Never mind.”

Louis does mind, has an idea of what Harry wanted to say, feels he should tell him he agrees, would do it in a heartbeat, over and over again if Harry wanted.

But he’s distracted when Harry turns, mindful not to tangle the wings as he leans his back against the pole, one hand grabbing it over his head, the other one making its way slowly down the front of his body. "I’ve wondered, you know? Imagined how it’d feel if you touched me."

Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, Louis finally gives up, follows the mesmerising trail of Harry's hand towards his jeans instead. His long fingers walk over the fabric folds confidently, flattening out to slide his palm down his thigh. His thumb just barely teases the edge his cock, where it’s bulging against the white and straining denim.

“You’ve got the tease part down, I’ll give you that. Not that good at the strip part, though.”

Trailing back up, Harry’s ring-clad fingers drag over his crotch fully. He bites his lip like he’s holding in a moan, eyes burning into Louis'. "That a problem for you?"

Louis takes his time looking up from Harry’s dick to his eyes, makes sure to keep his face angled and turned to display his most enticing look. He wasn’t born yesterday and what Harry can do, he can do better. “No problems here.”

The smile they share is like a secret, Louis aware of how much this is actually turning him on, this little game of theirs. The fabric shifts under Harry's twitching cock and Louis’ smile turns just a bit more dirty. He watches Harry tease himself through the denim, rough rubs of his palm like he just can’t help himself.

And Harry can’t look away either, lip turning dark red where he keeps biting down on it. Over and over his gaze returns to Louis' thumb and he watches while Louis plays with the outside seam of his trousers, his other fingers still anchored beneath his thighs.

Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs on his next swallow, making clear the price he pays for wrenching his gaze away.

So, not really a one-way street then.

Louis shifts, subtly, planting both his feet flat on the ground. He slides down in his seat, only a bit, just a suggestion, before he spreads his legs like an invitation.

“Jesus fuck,” comes Harry’s breathy moan, his hand speeding up.

Good. And while it would be the easiest thing to lose himself in this, now seems like a perfect time to unsettle Harry, pull the rug out from under him just to make sure he doesn’t become complacent.

“Weirdest striptease I’ve ever had,” Louis says in a clear voice.

Harry snaps out of it and grabs the pole with both hands over his head, knuckles turning white in his effort not to reach down again. “Been to lots of strip bars, then?”

Louis crosses one leg over the other, gently swinging his ankle. He decides to go with the truth. “I used to visit the ones that have a bit more boob on display.”

Harry pulls the fabric of his shirt aside to expose his nipples, four of them, Louis notices, and looks down at them solemnly. “What’s wrong with my boobs?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Louis says truthfully. “I meant the other kind.”

“You’re bi?”

“Nope,” Louis says, shaking his head. Now that he’s managed to direct Harry from flirting to genuine interest, he pitches his voice low and stares at Harry’s bulge. “I definitely like cock. Very much so.”

"Hmmm," Harry says, clearly eating this up. He sinks to his knees slowly, looking like a wet dream come to life. Louis’ dick throbs in sympathy. Harry rasps, "lucky me, then. I’ve got a really pretty one," before dropping to all fours, slinking towards Louis and arching his back, needing to stretch under the attention.

Louis watches his muscles shift as he sits back on his heels, knees spread and eyes downcast.

He looks like a marble statue, perfect in ways Louis can’t put into words, too mesmerised with Harry’s hand trailing over his chest, blocking out the dark edges of his tattoos while caressing his own skin slowly. Harry’s nipples harden under the sensation and he bites back a moan when a nail catches on one.

Louis files that away while Harry sucks in a deep breath. "You know what’s funny," he asks in a shaky voice, fingers still trailing idly.

"What’s that," Louis asks immediately and without thinking, eyes still fixed on Harry’s hands.

“You clearly want to have sex with me.”

Louis snorts. “Oh honestly, Curly. That’s just not smooth at all.”

Harry cheats then, leans back -- like the guy on the main floor had earlier -- until his back is on the floor with the wings trapped beneath. His knees spread further and it leaves Louis with nothing much to look at but Harry's tenting crotch. Seemingly for emphasis Harry cups himself, rings glinting as his thigh muscles work, his whole body writhing in that prone position.

"Mmmh," he moans, squeezing his fingers. "You make me so fucking hard, Lou-eh."

Fuck fuck fuck. Cameras and possible charges of indecent exposure aside, Louis can't help it, has to reach down and cup himself, press the heel of his hand down hard to relieve some of the pressure.

A striptease is one thing. An insanely hot guy writhing on his back, cupping himself and slurring his name is something else entirely.

Harry holds the position, slowly rubbing his crotch, over and over again, and Louis keeps staring fixedly at his hand. “I wanna know.”

Louis licks his lips. “Know what?”

Another powerful move and he’s sitting back up, shirt now hanging open completely.

The music slows, changes the atmosphere as it fills the room and Harry's movements calm. He rocks his hips gently into his palm, accentuating his love handles with every slow circle. Their softness stands in stark contrast to the firmness of his belly and Louis can't help but stare, mouth gone dry and fingers twitching.

Fuck he wants to bite that flesh, hold onto it while -- "wanna know what you feel like." His hips undulate like he's riding cock and Louis' own might just bust out of his jeans at the sight. Especially when Harry keeps up stroking his own body, large hands showing Louis the way. “Wanna know the sounds you make when you’re close.”

"That’s weird," Louis says on an unsteady exhale, but his heart isn’t in it.

Harry looks at him. "I bet you sound real pretty." He pinches his nipple and moans, loud and unabashed, hips snapping forward as he keeps abusing the little nub, pinching it until it’s red and tender looking. “Bet if the mood strikes you, you can be all pliant and pretty, and when you don’t want, I bet you’d fuck me until my legs gave out.”

Still kneeling before him on the raised platform, wings silhouetted behind him like an actual angel, Harry strokes the fern tattoos beneath his belly button. He must like it, because his dick twitches again and Louis silently groans around the saliva that’s accumulated in his mouth.

“Do you like it?” Harry whispers urgently, hips moving in a tight little figure eight. “Do you like it when I touch myself for you?”

And fuck, Louis more than likes it. Harry sees it in his expression right away, a satisfied smirk spreading on his pretty pink lips.

Louis wants -- well fuck, he doesn’t know what he wants, not anymore. He needs Harry to keep going, though, needs more.

"Push your hand further down."

Harry does so immediately, like all his stalling had really been him waiting for Louis’ say so.

He sighs when he does, eyes slipping shut as he arches into his touch, spit-covered lips falling open invitingly. He’s just entirely indecent, Louis thinks, as he watches the long line of his neck stretch.

"No," Louis says, sharply, just to prove to himself he can. Harry immediately stops, a sweet little frown forming on his brow. "Hand inside your jeans."

The frown vanishes as Harry complies, even when he struggles to find space underneath the tight material. He groans deep in his throat, whimpers when it finally dawns on him that he can't really move his hand at all. All he’s achieved is to increase the pressure on his cock with no relief in sight and the expression on his face once that realisation strikes has Louis circling his own hips in sympathy.

Louis smiles and tries for casual. "You look good like that."

Harry whimpers some more, clearly torn between the lack of friction and the praise. "What about -- what about you?" he pants out, heavy-lidded gaze drifting to Louis' crotch.

Louis swallows. "What about me?"

Harry’s hand shifts desperately in his jeans. He bites his lip. "Don't you wanna touch yourself?"

Louis almost comes right then and there, just from imagining them both getting off with their hands shoved down their pants in desperation. "Fuck, yeah," he groans, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of the couch to stop himself from doing just that. "But that's not how a striptease works."

"This stopped being a striptease," Harry pants, “a long fucking time ago.”

He’s got a point.

When Louis doesn’t move, his voice turns desperate, "come on, Louis, wanna see you. Please."

It's the earnest desperation. Or maybe the please, Louis doesn’t know anymore, hasn’t been in his right mind for quite a while now.

He still makes the choice though, mind clear, sharpened by want and so, so ready to come.

“Promise me,” Louis murmurs heatedly, his hand resting on the edge of his jeans, “that we’ll delete the footage of this later.”

Harry nods frantically, hips still pushing into his hand, frustrating him more.

Louis mirrors Harry’s movement, shoves his fingers past the hem of his jeans, feels them bite into his hips at the tight fit. He hisses at the wave of pleasure, unsurprised that he could come from this, would need nothing but a few well-timed tugs.

Only he’s faced with the same problem as Harry, hand trapped and not allowing for any relief at all.

He must make some frustrated sound because Harry stops to whisper urgently, "unzip them." There’s a desperate glint in his eyes when he adds, “please.”

And fuck, Louis really should. He can't wank himself like this, can't watch Harry with the intensity it deserves when he keeps being distracted by his own trousers. He also has the insane urge to immediately reward Harry’s begging, in the hopes he’ll do it again. "Yeah," he mumbles, fingers slipping off the button in his haste. "Yeah, okay."

Once successful, his hand wraps around his exposed cock and he gives it a slow, tight stroke, a groan rumbling deep in his chest.

Harry's eyes are on him as he spreads his thighs, arches into it as his nerves go haywire with pleasure.

And then Harry is shuffling forward, closer to the edge of the stage, closer to Louis. And Louis wants that, of course he does, but on his terms, has to be, since they’re already this far off script. "You should dance some more."

Harry stops completely, hand stilling inside his jeans. "What?" He sounds so bewildered, Louis very nearly laughs.

Instead he reclines more comfortably, his strokes firm and slow. His hand is doing the trick, taking off the edge and lifting the fog that’s settled in his mind. When he speaks, he aims for the most authoritative voice he can manage. "You. Should. Dance."

Harry looks almost forlorn, but he eventually removes his hand from inside his white skinnies and staggers to his feet. There it is again, that delicious rush of power. Louis squeezes his hand, eyes slipping half-shut while Harry picks up his improvised dance-routine.

There's no fancy tricks on the pole, just a spin or two, movement perfunctory at best. There is, however, a lot of grinding and rubbing, interlaced with desperate little gasps and uncontrolled little moans.

It’s hot as fuck and Louis has to concentrate to keep his own moans from spilling out.

It’s either the arousal or the dancing, but pink blotches appear high on Harry’s cheeks, his lips bitten deep red in contrast. He can't seem to help himself, licks them each time his gaze drops to Louis palming his cock, the edges of his teeth dragging over the puffy skin. “Louis I --”

“Yes?” Louis grunts, spreading more precome to make the slide easier.

Harry’s chest is heaving and he presses his burning cheek to the cool metal of the pole, crotch lined up and rubbing against it desperately. “Can I -- ah. Can I take my trousers off now?” He looks like he’s running a fever, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks burning. It must be torturous to still be denied relief, and the fact that he’s doing it willingly has Louis’ hand speeding up.

“Not yet,” Louis says, shoving his free hand under his shirt to play with his nipple. Harry just ruts against the pole harder, beautifully desperate.

And then there’s that damn lip biting. God, what Louis would do with that mouth. Kiss it, for one. See those lips wrapped around his cock. Stroke them after, when they're swollen and red. Kiss them some more.

Harry's getting frantic now, eyes slipping shut and hips working like he’s close to coming, rubbing off against the pole.

"Lie down on your back," Louis says abruptly, own hand stilling on his cock.

Harry groans. It's not all from being turned on, instead the sound has a whole lot of frustration laced through it. And it must be distracting because Harry forgets all about the wings when he moves, bumping them into the ground inelegantly. Looking sheepish, Harry shifts them under his body before lying down on his back in front of Louis. "Like this," he asks as his head falls to the side, watching Louis.

And fuck, he can read Louis the phone book with that voice and he'd probably get off on it. "That's perfect, baby."

The term slips out by accident, but Harry doesn't seem to mind, squeezes his eyes shut while his back bows. Then he starts playing with his nipples again, all four of them, dragging the tips of his fingers over each, as he teases them into hardness. He finds Louis' eyes and gasps when he pinches one, arches his back some more. "What else do you want me to do? Want you to enjoy it."

"Oh, you could just lie there and look pretty and I'd still have the best evening."

Harry pouts and preens at the same time, quite a feat, really. His eyes are unfocused, like he's proper turned on, maybe reached that place where he's pliable and accommodating and ready for anything.

The song changes in a gradual transition, one beat at a time. Harry begins to slide his hand down his stomach, stopping to play with the soft hair beneath his belly button. His stomach contracts on a shivery inhale. "Can I -- like. Could I take out my cock, now?"

Louis' dick fucking aches at the scratch in Harry's words. "Yeah. Yeah, sure, okay. Think it'll make you feel better?"

Harry nods frantically, lip caught between his teeth as he unfastens his jeans. The moment his cock is free he's pulling on it almost roughly, hoarse little moans escaping his mouth.

"Ah ah," Louis chides softly. Harry still looks at him guiltily. "You asked to take it out," Louis continues, "didn't say anything about wanking yourself." Harry looks contrite and Louis might feel sorry for him if it wasn't so goddamn hot. "Now let me see."

There’s no reaction, like maybe Harry didn’t hear him. Then he frowns, gaze still unfocused when he looks at Louis in confusion. "What?"

"Your cock, baby. Wanna see your cock."

The moment the words sink in Harry snatches his hand away and angles his lower body in Louis' direction. He's -- fuck. His cock is as gorgeous as the rest of him, slightly curved and big in a way Louis hasn't seen in a while.

Louis licks his lips as his eyes travel over it slowly, standing up straight between the ferns, which seem to mark the way, like anyone would need directions when looking for Harry's dick. The head is a deep red, wet with precome, and it twitches when Louis groans. He wants to wrap his hand around it, wonders if his fingers would even touch around the widest part.

"Such a pretty cock, just like you said. Would love to feel it on my tongue, wrap my lips around it."

Harry's eyes flick up to Louis' lips before he shudders. A clear pearl of precome appears, bubbles over and starts dripping down.

"That something you might like, hmm? Want me to suck you?" Harry just babbles in response and Louis hushes him gently. "Lie back down, love. And wrap your hand around that pretty cock, give it a couple of slow strokes. But don't come yet, okay?"

"Won't," Harry promises on a hasty exhale as he follows Louis instructions.

They end up like that, both wanking while watching the other. It ramps up the heat between them in a perpetual loop of arousal, spiralling them higher and higher until Louis' sure they've left behind anything they knew before.

"Loved your dance for me," Louis tells him honestly.

Harry's moans have deteriorated to a constant stream of whimpers, of desperate little sobs as he moves his hand roughly. Louis wouldn't touch him like that, at least not at first. He'd be gentle, close to reverent, until Harry couldn't take it any more, beg him to move faster, harder.

Harry looks first at him, then at his equally busy hand, then at the ceiling. Louis' words seem to partially drain away the haze Harry appears to be under. "Yeah?" His voice is wavery-thin.

"Yeah," Louis assures him. "Made me think all kinds of stuff."

A tiny smile spreads on Harry's face. "Good stuff?"

"Perfect stuff," Louis agrees and inhales shakily. "Thought about all the things I'd want to do to you. Thought about your pretty lips first." Louis gives himself a few hard strokes before matching Harry’s slower speed. "And your hands. God, you have such gorgeous hands, wanna feel them all over me."

Harry stops stroking his cock suddenly, pressing his eyes closed. His hips are still rolling though, lifting off the stage like he can't help himself.

"Thought about your cute little arse, too." Harry fixes feverish eyes on him, hanging on his every word. "And about how that stage is just about the right height. Could bend you over nicely, couldn't I?"

Harry's fingers wrap around the base, his heavy cock standing up straight while he struggles not to come. He blinks at Louis slowly, eyelids just too heavy to keep open.

"Do you like being fingered?"

Harry lets out a shout and arches. His dick is an angry red now and a strand of precome drips down uninterrupted to pool on the skin of his tattooed belly.

"That's very pretty. But not an answer."

Harry opens his mouth then closes it again. His throat works, Adam's apple bobbing. "Yesss," he whines.

"Yes?"

He nods his head frantically. "Want you to finger me. Want you to fuck me. Want you so bad Louis, please."

"Yeah, baby, but we gotta start slow. Get some lube and give you one finger first."

Harry is shaking his head now, curls flying at his vehemence. "Want more."

"Can't have more, not yet." Fuck, Louis wants to get up, crouch until he's whispering into Harry's ear. He wants to shove his fingers in that hair, feel it on his skin, grip it tight. "Can't give you what you want right away, not when you sound so sweet needing it."

Harry is still shaking his head, like the hypothetical of having only one finger up his arse is actually upsetting him.

Louis starts pulling on his cock again, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer force of his arousal. He's so close now. Not that he blames himself, considering his current situation. He's tired of waiting too, just like Harry.

"Would give you a second finger eventually. When you really need it."

Harry whimpers, his hand slipping between his legs, like he can't help but touch his hole.

"Would tease you for so long, until you're just muttering nonsense ‘cause you've been so turned on but only half full." Harry gasps, lips shining from where he keeps licking them. "D'you want another finger or my cock next?"

"Cock," Harry whispers, like his voice’s already been fucked out of him.

Louis stops breathing, sure he'll come.

"Wait," Harry says desperately when he notices. He staggers off the stage and falls to his knees between Louis’ spread thighs, eyes fixed on Louis' cock hungrily.

For a moment Harry’s hands hover over Louis’ thighs. Louis can feel the heat from them through his jeans, doesn’t miss the shaking in Harry’s right hand.

Eventually he settles them on his own knees instead, finally looking back up at Louis. “You close?”

Louis nods because fuck, Harry kneeling before him, flushed and with red bitten lips and his fucking dick right there isn’t helping to stall his orgasm.

And then Harry -- shirt still unbuttoned and wings slightly crooked -- opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, invitation clear in his eyes.

“Fu--ck,” Louis slurs as he feels the beginning of his orgasm at the base of his spine. It's like a tidal wave he's trying to stave off with a bucket and shovel, fucking impossible.

He scrambles to his feet, cock now mere inches from Harry’s wet, pink mouth and burning eyes. His free hand reaches out for that mop of curls, but he snatches it back just in time. “Wrap your hand around your dick,” he pants as he tugs on his own. Harry complies immediately, eyes pressed closed for just a moment. “Fuck, do you have any idea how you look?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just opens his mouth wider and fuck -- Louis is so close, he’s pushing his orgasm back for seconds at best. Harry’s free hand reaches out, almost touching Louis’ leg again. And then he must make a decision, because suddenly Harry’s big hand lands on Louis’ bum. Long fingers dig in as he pulls Louis closer, until the head of his cock slides over Harry’s extended tongue, hot breaths washing over his sensitive flesh.

“Please,” he begs, lips dragging over Louis’ cock when he speaks.

And that’s it, the final straw. Louis arches and groans as his orgasm hits, eyes slipping shut when the feeling shoots up his spine, makes his fingers tingle and his mind blank out.

They flash back open when he has enough presence of mind. It’s just in time to see the last few strands of his come pulse onto Harry’s eager tongue. His lips are already smeared with it, another two lines crossing his face, come stuck to his eyelashes where he's pressing one eye closed, softly panting under the onslaught.

He hasn’t let go of Louis’ arse either, holds him in place as he leans forward, tongue sliding along the underside of Louis’ still-twitching cock.

Their gazes connect and Harry very slowly wraps his lips around the head. With gentle suction his tongue swirls and cleans away the remnant drops while sending electric currents up Louis’ spine.

He pulls back with a wet noise, making a show of licking his lips. Then Harry gathers the come from over his eye and sucks that off his finger too. All Louis can do is stand there and stare, mesmerised by Harry’s eager expression, cheeks still red in contrast to the white feathers behind him.

“I think I got some on your wings.”

Harry moans, finishes cleaning Louis’ come from his face, other hand still dutifully wrapped around his rock-hard dick.

Louis tucks his own away, stumbling backwards onto the couch.

"Mmmh," Harry says when he's finally finished. He smacks his lips, eyes unfocused and pupils taking over almost completely. "That was nice."

“Yeah,” Louis pants, his voice rough. “Nice.”

Harry pushes him back to crawl into his lap, settling warm and heavy on his thighs again. Louis' hands automatically go out to steady him, but he snatches them back like they’ve been burned. They end up awkwardly in front of his chest, wanting to touch but not being allowed.

"It's okay, you can put them on my thighs."

Louis doesn't move. "I've had some very distinct instruction."

Harry gives him a long look before he shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face. "Bit late for that, I think," Harry half whispers and half whines into his ear. Big hands engulf his, push them onto Harry's legs. He lets out a shaky breath when the rough material scratches his palms and Harry's fingers dance over his skin. "You have lovely hands, too."

"I --" Louis gulps, looking up at him. "Thanks."

Harry slides both his hands into Louis hair and leans in. For a second, Louis is sure he's about to be kissed. But Harry veers left, panting in his ear, moving his hips. "Fuck," he moans and Louis wholeheartedly agrees. "Can you -- can you touch me? Please?"

And fuck how is Louis supposed to deny him? He runs the back of his index finger down Harry's shaft. "So soft," he murmurs. "And so hard." Harry whimpers damply against his neck, chanting fuck under his breath. Then Louis looks up sharply. “This doesn’t count as sex.”

“What?” Harry whines, confused and clearly not interested in semantics right now.

Louis wraps his fingers around the base of Harry's cock, rubbing the head against his stomach muscles and murmurs, “earlier, when I said I’d only have sex with you once I knew you’d fall in love with me. I didn’t mean this. It doesn’t count.”

“Okay,” Harry pants, looking down. “No sex, yeah, okay.” For a moment they both sit frozen, looking down at Louis' smaller hand wrapped around Harry's rather impressive erection. He readjusts and gives one slow upward drag. Harry keens, eyes still fixed downward. "Your hand is tiny," he says in a voice that breaks. 

Louis scowls just a bit, gropes for a good comeback in his post-orgasm haze. "Your cock is just really big."

He'd berate himself for this kind of dirty talk, but it's just too true. He gives it a few experimental strokes, slow and steady, learning the weight of it. He’s glad he’s already come, wants to experience this in detail, remember every single shiver that runs through Harry, the way his thighs shake continuously, tiny little muscle spasms he can't control.

"You wanna come?"

Harry nods, lip caught between his teeth. "Want you to fuck me."

Louis isn't sure if Harry actually means it or just wants him to continue talking where they left off, so he says instead, "could fuck you all slow and shallow, drag it out all evening. That what you want?"

Harry shakes his head, then nods, like he's incapable of making that decision.

"But now I think I’m gonna wank you instead. Quick and hard cause I wanna see you come."

True to his word he starts moving his hand. Harry curls into him, head resting on Louis' shoulder and thrusting into his fist desperately. His pace is erratic, one powerful thrust after another, almost uncontrolled and Louis wonders what it's like to be fucked by Harry when he's this turned on.

Glorious, most likely.

"Just the tip," Harry slurs and Louis obliges, concentrating on the head of Harry's cock, squeezing tightly while still shifting his palm over it.

He watches Harry closely, wonders if he should start talking again, rile Harry up some more, when Harry turns his head and groans into his neck, teeth digging into his skin. It hurts, enough for him to wince at the sharp sting. He doesn't let up though, wouldn’t if the building came crashing down around them.

Back arching, Harry comes all over his own tummy, fern tattoos streaked with come as he pants heavily into Louis' neck while his whole body shudders uncontrollably. The orgasm is intense, Louis can tell, and it goes on for a noticeably long time.

And Louis can't help but clutch Harry close as he trembles through the aftershocks. Long, slow strokes of his hand sooth Harry's heaving back, forging a path around the wings while still gently cradling Harry's softening cock in his hand.

For a long moment they stay like that, entwined, sharing damp breaths. Then there's lips on his neck, sucking at the aching spot, kissing it gently.

“Best non-sex I’ve ever had,” Harry says quietly. He sounds tired, exhausted, slumped into Louis chest, his fingers running over Louis’ body lazily. He has a thing for skin-on-skin contact and his hands keep returning underneath Louis’ shirt to slide over his belly and hips.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs back.

Now that the haze has lifted and Harry has come as well, Louis is more aware of their surroundings again, of what just happened.

There isn’t even an inkling of regret.

Fuck, what just happened feels pure and true and motivates him that much more. Harry isn’t someone who doesn’t like relationships, someone who is afraid to commit, that much is clear. Louis will figure out what his hang up is. And then he’ll break that wall down. Maybe it’s the hormones talking, the post-orgasm haze, but he’s sure the two of them can have so much more. He’s more than willing to put some work into it.

“Gonna tell me this was a bad idea?”

Louis looks at Harry. His tone is almost flat, but there’s something behind that facade, some old hurt, like striking out first will lessen the blow when it comes.

“No.” He lets the truth of that one word shine through. “I liked our non-sex plenty. Probably almost as hot as when we finally do have sex.”

Harry’s face changes easily, splitting into a grin like his earlier doubts have just evaporated. “Don’t you mean ‘if’?”

Louis shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

Harry giggles, rubs his nose against Louis’ skin. “Don’t think it can get much hotter.”

“Ah well, that’s where you’re wrong,” Louis says, tapping Harry’s leg until he shifts off of him so he can stand. His legs wobble, but hold. He draws Harry up next to him, helps him get more or less presentable again. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d really love it if we could delete those recordings.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but still takes him to the office where the server is set up. Dutifully he deletes the file from their hard drive, but not before transferring it onto a USB stick and handing it to Louis with a smirk and a teasing, “for when you’re lonely.”

  


+++

  


Lottie is tanned and happy and Louis hates her.

“I hate you,” he tells her, but she only smiles, leans in for a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting down at the table again.

“I love you too, you’re my favourite big brother.”

It’s some hip new restaurant she made him go to for their brunch. Louis feels out of place, ignores the stares he’s getting from the young bearded guy in the corner, the girl next to him talking a mile a minute while her eyes never leave Louis either.

Everyone is either staring or busy with something, their phone or laptop or the person opposite.

Louis lets his eyes roam some more, sees a girl in the corner, knees pulled up to her chest, reading a book. She grabs a pen from the table and scribbles something into the margin before twirling it between her fingers as she reads on.

“This place makes me feel old,” he tells his sister. He isn’t surprised she’d like this sort of place, but usually she doesn’t make him come along.

“Nah, you’re feeling uncool. ‘Cause you’re not that old.”

“And you suck at comforting, oh my god.”

He flips open the menu, sees burgers with large mushrooms instead of buns and avocado over the patty. He isn’t really surprised.

“So, good honeymoon, then?”

Lottie sighs happily. “Best shagging of my life.”

His eyes get stuck to the picture of a multicoloured salad. He tries really hard to ignore her last words, cringes away from that thought entirely. “Shut up,” he murmurs, still inspecting the salad in great detail. “That’s disgusting.”

She looks at him imploringly. He tries not to shift under her gaze. He’s busy with this insane menu, anyway, has never seen this many pictures apart from on a kiddies menu. “You got some, too,” she says around a grin before taking a sip of her cappuccino.

The next page has pictures of the various side-dishes. “So, what’s good here? Sweet-potato chips, that sounds interesting.”

She leans forward, clapping her hands together. “Who is it? And why didn’t you tell me? Is he hot?”

Or brown rice. He likes rice, right? “I decided to go straight, so I slept with your grade school teacher.”

“Hey,” she says while laughing obnoxiously, ignoring the annoyed look from the table across from them. “Ms. Johnson was hot.”

“Yeah, maybe ten years ago when you actually still did something that resembles studying.”

Lottie opens her mouth, ready to defend herself. Thankfully they get interrupted by their waiter, who introduces himself with a flourish. His name is Gandalf and he justifies that by naming his parents Lord of the Rings fanatics.

Maybe his sister will get distracted enough to forget all about this. Chances are about fifty-fifty. If she doesn’t forget, she’ll really start questioning him. Experience has shown that he’s utterly helpless in giving up information once she’s made up her mind.

He makes Lottie order for him, mainly to get her mind off of the current topic, but also because he doesn’t feel like wading through this menu any more.

Once Gandalf departs, it becomes clear that his diversion tactics didn’t pan out. “So,” she says, leaning back and giving him another assessing look. “Do I know him?”

“No,” Louis says, too quickly. He wants his menu back, but bloody Gandalf took it, leaving him with nothing to hide behind.

“Ooh I do! Who is it? Oh, this is so exciting, does mum know already?”

“No. And you won’t tell her either.”

Her face falls. “Did you fuck it up already? Jesus Louis, that didn’t take long.”

“While your faith in me is staggering,” he tells her flatly, “I didn’t fuck it up. I’m working on it, he’s just got some commitment issues or something.”

She looks at him for a long moment before reaching out and grabbing his hand across the table. Louis knows what’s coming. Lottie can be one of the sappiest people he knows and he steels himself for it. “Don’t get hurt, okay? I know you want a proper relationship, but some guys aren’t ready, maybe never will be. It all ends in pain and misery for you. I don’t want that, you deserve better.”

He pats her hand before extricating his own. “It’s fine. It’s like a game, you see.”

She looks dubious. “A game?”

He nods, leans back when Gandalf brings his tea. “I didn’t like him much, he got caught up in the chase. Wanted to see if he could get me, you know? Basic stuff. I upped the stakes, told him he’d fall in love with me.” He ignores her ever deepening frown and barrels on. “It’s okay. I really wasn’t trying before.”

“Louis that’s… What are you even saying?”

He shifts uncomfortably. This is exactly why he didn’t want to talk about it. “It’s Harry,” he tells her.

He means it as a distraction, but it backfires when she all but shrieks, “Harry? As in Anne’s son?”

“Yes, that Harry.”

“Oh shit,” she says while leaning back and fanning herself. “He’s hot.”

Well, maybe the diversion worked after all. “Yes, he is.”

She scrambles forward again, her voice excited when she asks, “was it good? God, tell me he was good, he looks like he would be.”

“There are so, so many disturbing layers to this I don’t even know where to start. Can we please change the subject now?”

“Of course not! Did you have sex with him?”

“Keep your voice down, woman. We aren’t alone,” he looks around, but no one is interested in them anymore. Apparently the new people taking a seat at the corner table are now the recipients of all the stares. “And I did. A little bit.”

Lottie looks confused. “You had a little bit of sex?”

He nods and pours himself some tea even though it could probably steep another minute or so. He cups the mug in his hands and blows away the soft billows of steam, ignoring Lottie waiting for him to elaborate.

She kicks him under the table.

“Damnit Lots!” he curses when the hot liquid almost spills everywhere. “We got off together, okay? But we barely touched and we haven’t really talked since.”

Of course that’s the moment their waiter brings their food and he serves it to Louis with an extra side portion of disapproval.

Well, Gandalf can go stuff it.

He hardly gets in two bites before Lottie is back to questioning him. “But like. You’ve called him, yeah? Talked to him?”

“I text him.”

“How romantic.”

Louis glares at her. “What would you know, Mrs. Cartwright. Aren’t you supposed to pop out the grandkids now that you’re married?”

Lottie blanches and puts down her fork. Louis has seen her outeat grown men, so it’s definitely a sign of how much that question is affecting her. “Don’t even joke about that. I’m several days late, but I’m blaming it on the insane few weeks I’ve had. Plus, I’ve never really been regular, you know?”

Louis doesn’t know what’s worse; when she wanted dirty details of his sex life or the fact that they’re now discussing her period while he digs into his food. In the end, the third option wins out. “But can you imagine a tiny you? That would be amazing.”

She actually throws her napkin at him. “Shut up. You know how I feel about this subject.”

“Yes well, I like it. Kids are awesome.”

“You can have it, then. I’m not ready to be a mum. Don’t think I’ll ever be.”

He pats her hand this time. “I will. We can keep it a secret from the baby and once it grows up, I’ll leave little clues lying around, see how long it takes him or her to catch on.”

“Yeah,” Lottie says flatly, “you know what, I changed my mind. You’re not getting my hypothetical baby, after all.” He sighs dramatically, knows by the look in her eyes that she isn’t done with him. “So. Tell me more about your sucky plan then.”

And Louis can’t help but comply, tells her in great detail and with a certain amount of relief. It’s good to finally have someone to tell, to share this with. Especially someone who knows him as well as his sister does.

“Wear your leather jacket the next time. You look good in it.”

And this, this is why he loves her.

Her initial reaction sticks with him though, to the point that he’s pacing his empty apartment that night, phone in hand. The lights are all turned off, affording him an uninterrupted view of the lit street below, different colours reflecting off of the puddles left by the earlier rain.

Tonight he’s in a bit of a philosophical mindset, ready to broach the deeper questions. He opens his Whatsapp chat with Harry and quickly compiles a message.

tell me why you think you suck at relationships?

He sees Harry come online almost immediately, sees his status change to writing. It stops shortly after, like it’s finally dawning on Harry what he’s doing. He goes offline after that and Louis has almost written tonight off as a lost cause, when the answer arrives.

I just like to get lost in it, you know? Forget every one of my responsibilities and throw myself into a new relationship, but I have other things to focus on right now. If it helps, I think we would have worked out wonderfully.

Louis smiles, not only at the answer but also at eliciting an honest response. While he wants to hear more of Harry’s thoughts on that matter, he also wants him to stay interested enough to keep talking.

so you don’t believe in soulmates then?

And this time Harry goes back to typing immediately and doesn’t stop until his message appears.

Oh no. We make our own destiny.

Louis smiles down at his phone.

i fully agree with you there curly

He thinks about keeping the conversation going after that, but it’s late, and he kind of likes the idea of leaving Harry wanting more.

He heads for the upper floor of his loft instead and falls asleep with the night skyline visible through the window-front.

  


+++

  


Niall is the best new friend he could’ve hoped for. Even if his home smells strongly of cats, no matter where they are.

Right now it’s in his living room, the both of them sprawled out on deep, comfortable couches. Louis can make out scratch marks on the one Niall is sitting on, where he keeps tapping his heel while talking. “He likes candles. I mean he’s got a shitton of them. He’s really into relaxing bubble baths, but he doesn’t really have the time for it. He hasn’t dated in like half a year.”

Truly, Niall is a fountain of knowledge, one that immediately dries up when Louis tries to dig deeper. “Bad break on his last relationship then?”

Niall just gets that pinched look on his face and pats the cat in his lap for several seconds before saying, “maybe that’s for him to tell you. ‘S private, after all.”

Louis nods. “You’re a good friend, Niall.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees easily. “I really am. But now, tell me. What’re you going to do next?”

Louis shifts back, leaning against the couch. A huge tabby jumps into his lap and starts purring up a storm when he pets the soft fur. “Nothing for the next three days. I have to go to Manchester, we’re having a bit of trouble with the Lobbying Act with one of my charities. Some politician got it in his head that our research on the biology of cancer and stem cells transplants would influence his political agenda. If it goes through, we’ll have to record all our costs, which is, well, costly.”

“And less of the money actually goes into the charity,” Niall surmises and follows it with a very apt, “that’s fucked up.”

“It is. I mean we’re pretty big, so we’ll probably still be able to campaign. But this legislation is killing smaller charities.”

“So what’re you going to do?”

Louis shifts and the cat in his lap digs its claws into his thighs, just in case he stops the petting. He doesn’t. “Got an appointment with him. Gonna try to convince him that our research really has nothing to do with him.”

“Well, I’m gonna keep my fingers crossed.”

Louis smiles at him, at the earnestness in his tone. “Thanks, mate.”

“So. Asking you right now if you’d foster a kitten is probably out of the question then, right?”

Louis laughs, shaking his head. “I’m hardly home, Ni. Poor thing would be bored out of its mind. Wouldn’t be fair.”

Niall sighs and gets up. “Yeah, thought as much. Now come on, we should go eat something. I feel like Sushi.”

Damn. “Well then, would you mind if my friend joined us? I promised him I’d invite him next time I go.”

Niall smiles, easy as ever. “Of course! I love meeting new people.”

The thing is, Louis has seen Niall interact with others. He might have an uncountable amount of cats in his home, but he isn’t some sort of recluse. He gets along with most people. No, scratch that. He gets along with everyone.

So it is a bit of a surprise when Zayn joins them half an hour later at the restaurant, slides into the seat across from Niall and Niall just... freezes up.

“Ni,” Louis says in a questioning voice. “This is Zayn. Zayn, this is Niall.”

Zayn gives Niall a friendly nod and greeting. Niall, on the other hand, stammers out a staccato greeting before he suddenly gets up and heads to the bathroom, cheeks tinged red.

“What’s up with him?”

“Dunno,” Louis says, still looking in the direction Niall went off in. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that -- no. That’s clearly insane.

Zayn is on the third page of carefully perusing the menu when he suddenly looks up sharply. “So, are you paying or what?”

“Why would I,” Louis asks, easily falling into the snarky banter that’s been their way of communicating since they met at boarding school. “Could feed an army instead.”

Zayn narrows his eyes. “I’ll have you know I haven’t put on any weight in the last half year. I’m in perfect health. I’m eating just the right amount.”

“Never said you weren’t,” Louis tells him, lazily flipping through the menu. “Doesn’t change the fact that you absorb food like a black hole absorbs matter.”

“Haha,” Zayn says, trying to sound annoyed. He isn’t though, so Louis doesn’t feel guilty. “How’s your non-existent love life by the way?”

Niall chooses that moment to rejoin them, and his face immediately turns pink. And Zayn wasn’t even talking to him. Louis doesn’t have time for this.

“Just fine,” Louis bites out. “Not quite as varied as yours, but who’s complaining.”

Zayn smiles, white teeth flashing. “Not me.” He gentles his smile into something less offensive and nods at Niall. “What about you? Got some lucky lady at home? Or guy?”

Niall shifts in his seat. “Me -- I, what? Oh yeah. No. Nope. No lady. No one. Not right now.”

It’s a testament to how much Zayn really loves him, that he doesn’t mock Louis’ new friend after that trainwreck of a sentence. Instead he nods and goes back to scanning the menu.

Louis sighs.

He really doesn’t have time for this.

They order and when Niall gets that deer-in-headlights look again, Louis decides to nip that in the bud. “So,” he says and waits until he has both their attention. “If you’d want to make a guy fall in love with you how would you go about it?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Zayn sounds so disturbed, even Niall raises an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t be a dick.”

One long-suffering sigh later and Zayn visibly perks up when an idea hits him. “I’d snag every one of his one-night stands out from under his nose.”

Niall frowns. “You’d give him a severe case of blue balls so he’ll go out with you?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Moral reasons,” Louis says dryly. “Also I want him to like me so that’s out.”

“No, it’s not. You’re just not seeing the full potential of my idea.”

“I don’t want to have sex with anyone else, Zayn. I want something real.”

“You should stick to basics,” Niall says, far more level-headed now that they have a plan to forge. Or maybe he’s starting to see Zayn in a different light. Either way, it’s good for Louis. “Start slow. A date, some more kissing, that sort of thing. Get to know each other.”

“Right,” Louis says, nodding. He’s got the vague notion to write this down. “Is the kissing for after the date? Or like, general?”

“Well, you’ve kissed already, so general.”

“We haven’t kissed.”

Zayn snickers at that. “Yeah, mouths too busy, eh?” Louis throws a napkin at him.

But Niall looks downright scandalised at the new knowledge.

And so they put their heads together and come up with ways how Louis will get around to kissing Harry Styles.

  


+++

  


The plan they come up with has a few flaws. For one, they never discussed a timeframe for all of this. They all agreed that sex is clearly out of the question, at least for now. Hell, even Zayn agreed, which says a lot.

Louis needs to get to know Harry better, find out what’s holding him back. It’s very likely an ex-boyfriend that has fucked him up. Whatever it is, Louis is there to tackle it with Harry, he just needs to say the word.

Very consciously, he stays away from Harry’s club, from the entire area, in fact. Nothing like a bit of absence to make the heart grow fonder.

He lasts for another week, but only barely. Even filling his calendar with committee meetings, luncheons with several high-paying benefactors and two short trips out of London doesn’t seem to take his mind off of Harry for more than a few hours.

It’s not that he’s in love. Not yet.

But he does have the kind of personality that fixes onto a certain problem and not give up until it’s solved. Like a dog with a bone, his mum used to joke when he’d spend hours getting the sand to water ratio just right so his sandcastles wouldn’t crumble, or when he’d decided he needed to become head boy in grade eight at his boarding school, just so he could change the menu and stop them serving that terrible meat loaf on Tuesdays.

So after that one week of distraction is up, he drags Nick back to Halo. Not that Nick needs any convincing. They’re just on the main floor this time, no special access. It’s partly unnecessary and partly because he doesn’t quite trust himself. This way he can ensure there’ll be no accidental sex, or non-sex, of any kind.

Instead they get drunk at the bar and while Nick goes off to watch one of the dancers up close, Louis tries to needle more information out of Sophia.

“So like, your boss, Harry, right? Tell me about his last relationship.”

She looks at him, down at his drink and back at him again. “You sound like a stalker.”

“I’m not!” he protests, trying to look innocent. “I like Harry and I’ve actually been trying to avoid him.”

“Yeah,” she snorts, her hands preparing another drink absentmindedly. “Tell me about it. He’s been whining about it all week.”

Louis perks up. “He has?”

“Look, I’m not getting in the middle of this, okay?” She puts the glass down and pins him with a stare. “Just don’t hurt him.”

Louis’ smile is so wide, his cheeks hurt. “I won't. Planning to have him fall in love with me though.”

Inexplicably, Sophia’s face darkens. “If you’re just going to use him, I’ll end this right now.”

He throws up his hands in a placating manner, “no, no. The falling in love part, that’s got to be mutual.” Harry walks in through a side door just then, looking stunning in a leopard-print shirt and his hair lose. “Half-way there already, I think.”

She looks at him suspiciously. “As long as we understand each other.”

Louis nods absentmindedly, watching Harry’s every move. He has a quick word with each of his dancers, like he’s checking in to see if everything is okay.

Sophia is still staring at him and he gives her his best cheeky smile. “That’s quite a fierce response. And here I am, wanting only good things for your boss.”

“Look, Harry is --” she sighs and starts cleaning the work space before her. “When we start working here, we aren’t at our best, you know? I mean I’d just had a falling out with my parents and broken up with my boyfriend of four years. When someone comes into your life at that point, kind and understanding, offering you a means to support yourself, to get back on your feet, you will feel a certain loyalty towards them.”

Louis nods. It makes sense, even if he’s never been in the position of desperately needing money. He thinks he doesn’t need to have experienced it, in order to understand the feeling of helplessness, of frustration at not being able to pull yourself out of that mess.

“I can’t speak for everyone, of course,” Sophia continues, “I’m sure there are some guys working here who just thought that taking off their clothes is a fun way to earn some extra cash. Usually though, this job saves them somehow. From a job much worse than this, and very often from themselves as well.”

“And Harry is the one who provides that.”

She nods, her expression still intent. “Sometimes, all you need to be saved, is someone to believe in you. Someone who shows you that you can get yourself out of whatever mess you’ve found yourself in. And no matter how hard you try, you will feel indebted to that person somehow. We love Harry, because he is that someone for us. For some people here, he was their last hope, for others, he’s the opportunity to put themselves through Uni. Either way, he showed us that we can still rely on ourselves, you know? Reminded us of our humanity.”

“He gave you the opportunity to help yourself.”

Sophia points at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re starting to get it now. We love him for that alone, but to top it all off, he’s also a wonderful person, a genuinely nice guy who has had the wind knocked out of his sails once or twice because of it.” She places her hands on the bar to lean forward, closer to Louis. “So when I say ‘don’t fuck it up, don’t hurt Harry’, I mean it. He has friends who look out for him, friends who won’t let you play games with him.”

She nods in Harry’s direction, where he’s just greeting some customers in a familiar manner, smiling and joking. He’s subtle about it, not like Louis himself, who knows he can rush in like a whirlwind, overwhelm people and get their attention. No, Harry is more subdued than that, more like a gentle summer breeze but no less effective.

“This isn’t a game,” Louis tells her, his eyes still glued to Harry’s every movement. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

They watch Harry make his way across the room and disappear up the stairs.

“As long as you understand.”

He turns back to her and gives her a big, honest smile. “I do, so you can retract your claws now. I’m glad he’s got people like you watching his back though.” They look at each other for a long moment and there’s an understanding between them Louis very much appreciated. He raps his knuckles against the bartop, just to break the atmosphere. “And, love? Could I get another one of your lovely drinks, please?”

Hours later they’re among the last people leaving when the club finally closes. Louis is pleasantly sloshed and in an argument with Nick while they make their way around the outside of the club. They’re discussing, at the top of their lungs, which one of them loves the other one more. Louis is pretty sure he’s winning.

Thankfully, Nick can sleep in tomorrow, so he’s even drunker than Louis. While that makes him sappier than normal, he’s not questioning their destination.

"S'not me fault!" Louis croons at the top of his lungs. He's clutching Nick’s jacket, because everything keeps spinning and he seems to have forgotten how to walk. "I'm inno -- innocent!"

Nick’s laugh is obnoxious and loud as he stumbles into a brick wall, almost taking them both down. "Innocent! Mate, you haven't been innocent since that unfortunate incident with the royal family."

Louis is about to protest when his brain catches up. "Which one?"

They round the corner and Louis just manages to avert a major wardrobe malfunction by hopping over a puddle of rainwater. It's not raining right now, but that doesn't mean it hadn't been recently.

He takes in a deep breath, smells the rain in the air, the wet concrete and the acidic reek from nearby dumpsters. "Ah," he says like a connoisseur savouring a particularly good bouquet of red wine. "London, I've missed you."

Nick staggers, clutching onto Louis' coat. "Did you leave?"

Louis shrugs, thinks about something philosophical and deep. What comes out is, "where's a fucking cab when you need it?"

"Cabs! You can call them," Nick says, letting go and digging through his pockets. His shoulder crashes against the building but he doesn't seem to mind much. Louis follows suit, relieved to notice it steadies his spinning head.

The door further down opens and a group of people emerge. They're laughing, three of them waiting while the fourth one locks the door.

He's got long legs, and a flowy, leopard print shirt. Curls just like Harry. Even his hands are big like Harry's had been. Louis flashes back to those hands, how they'd looked on Harry's body, sliding over his own skin.

"Louis?"

Oh shit, the guy even knows his name. The guy that looks like Harry. "You're not Harry," Louis slurs as the guy comes closer and the concern on his face becomes visible. "Harry's got wings."

"Got them right here," not-Harry says. He points to a pair of wings wedged under his arm. "A strap has come loose, have to fix them."

Louis is still suspicious, but not-Harry really looks and sounds an awful lot like the real Harry. He comes to a stop within touching distance and Louis pokes him in the chest, swaying slightly. "You are Harry!" The elation dies and he pouts. “I hardly saw you today.”

“I didn’t even know you were here,” Harry says with a soft smile. “You should have told someone to come find me.”

Something clatters behind him, followed by a loud curse. Nick has dropped his phone and is making some hilarious attempts at trying to pick it up again. He manages, but barely.

"Get me a cab," Harry calls out to his friends. He turns back to Louis. "The bouncer should have called you one. Do you still remember who was working? Oh never mind, I'll check tomorrow."

Louis just stares at him, own eyes at half mast. All he can think of is how he discussed kissing Harry with Niall and Zayn. And that Harry is here. And how he desperately wants to kiss him. "You're tall," he says instead.

Harry's frown gentles and an errand dimple sneaks onto his face. Louis reaches up to poke at it.

"You're just tiny."

"I'm not!" Louis says haughtily, eliciting another soft smile. He pokes the dimple again.

"I've got my phone," Nick says proudly. Harry glances over at him and Louis pouts. He wants Harry's attention back on himself. "What's the number? For like. Cabs."

"One is already on it's way," Harry tells him.

He's still looking at Nick, so Louis reaches for his belt loops and pulls him closer. Whatever Harry was about to say is cut off abruptly when he snaps his mouth shut. He's looking at Louis again, and all's right with the world.

After several long moments, Harry speaks. "Were you planning to go home with him?"

"Nick? If anything, Nick comes over to my place. His place is shit."

"Hey!" Nick complains. "I’ve got a dog! What do you have? Sterile kitchen counters and one side full of windows that always let the sun in when you wanna sleep.” He turns to Harry, staggers, then looks at him blearily. “You're pretty."

"Watch it." Louis glares, but Nick just laughs at him and honest-to-god pinches his cheek. Louis is angry, or jealous, but his mood improves miraculously when Nick spots Harry's friends still hovering around awkwardly and stumbles their way, shouting rude things about Louis’ character. It subsides when he reaches them, probably trying to find someone to hook up with.

Which is fine, Louis doesn’t care about them. Or whoever else Nick wants to fuck. He just damn well can't have Harry.

"Nothing more than a friend though?"

"Nick?" Louis shudders dramatically, blinking slow. "I love him. But not like that." He slips his hands over Harry's hips, lets them rest on the small of his back. A sharp tug later and Harry stumbles into him, slightly breathless.

"You're squashing the wings."

There's a sparkle in Harry's eyes from the nearby streetlight that's endlessly fascinating. "So don't fly away then."

With minimal movement, Harry deposits the wings on the ground, taking care not to dislodge Louis' hands. He straightens, hands free. One lands on Louis' chest, right over his heart. The other cups his jaw.

Louis looks up at him, suddenly sober, parting his lips when Harry's thumb traces over them. "Never even got to kiss you," Harry says, sounding almost wistful.

Louis just looks at him before saying roughly, "do it now."

There's a moment of indecision, possibly Harry trying to judge how drunk Louis really is. Well, he'll never be drunk enough to not want this.

"If the prophet doesn't come to the mountain," he quotes with a dramatic sigh before he rolls onto his toes, body steadied by Harry and the wall behind him.

And then they're kissing.

At first it's nothing more than a drunk press of lips on lips and Louis wonders if he has the faculties to actually take charge of this kiss.

Turns out he doesn't have to, because then he feels Harry's tongue against his lips. And then they're proper kissing, deep and greedy, complete with fists clutching clothes and uncontrollable little gasps filling what is left of the space between them.

Even in his drunk state Louis recognises a great kisser when he's attached to his lips. Not wanting to be outdone, he nips at Harry's bottom one, grins at the groan it elicits.

He's got no idea how long they kiss, eons probably, only it's far, far too soon when someone clears their throat and softly calls out Harry's name. And honestly, if anyone is going to say Harry's name, it should surely be Louis?

He slides his leg up Harry's side, elated when Harry reaches down to hike it up around his hip.

"Harry," one of his friends shouts.

Harry pulls back like someone slapped him. "What?" he asks in confusion, directing his question at Louis.

And honestly, does anyone expect him to think with Harry's spit-slick lips in easy kissing distance?

"The cab's here."

Harry pulls back, but Louis clutches him close. There's an embarrassing whine that escapes him. Here’s to hoping he won't remember it tomorrow. "Don't wanna go," he says as Harry slowly inches back, several expression playing over his features. "Wanna stay with you."

"You're drunk," Harry says softly, extricating himself from Louis' hands.

"What're you even saying," Louis complains, grabbing for Harry's hips again. "Wanna spend Sunday doing nothing but you."

There are snickers coming from the group of Harry's friends and Louis drunkenly flips them off before returning all his attention to Harry.

He seems to be deep in contemplation. "Stop biting your lip," Louis pleads because honestly, could Harry let him live?

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Louis whines, purposefully theatrical. He clings to Harry’s front and lets all the want show in his eyes when he looks up at him. He remembers the goal he set himself tonight, but when he speaks he isn’t sure because that whine in his voice could be from his actor side. It could also be from that part of him, that’s desperately attracted to Harry. Harry, who is gorgeous and kind and fucking uninhibited. Harry who danced for him and drove him absolutely insane. Harry, who with unquestioning ease, with fucking delicious eagerness took his direction.

“You’d love it,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear. While he’s there, he drags his lips teasingly slow along the hollow beneath Harry’s cheekbone, skin smooth and warm. He reaches Harry’s lips, drags his own across them, lets them both feel the velvet softness, the slight puffiness from their kiss. “Every last second I’d make you wait.”

Harry clutches him, fingers bruising as he staggers, like Louis’ words actually make him weak in the knees.

“I know,” he whispers, like it’s a big secret. “But you’re drunk. And we shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. We want different things.”

Louis smiles against his lips. “Why’re you so afraid of a relationship?”

It takes a moment, but the words break the trance. Harry pulls back slowly, regretfully. “Your cab is waiting."

With careful fingers he takes hold of Louis' wrist in one of his hands, scooping up the wings in the other. Louis forms a fist, just to feel his muscles shift under Harry’s tender grip, shivers at the frisson of want shooting up his spine.

"You're a fucking tease."

Harry laughs, high and slightly manic. "Just trying to avoid heartache. For either of us."

Louis gives him a shrewd look. “We’ll see about that.”

"I don’t think we will," Harry says and he sounds rueful. Louis smiles, because he so got this in the bag. If it doesn’t happen tonight, it will some other time. Either way, Harry Styles will fall in love with him.

Louis leans up for a quick and dirty kiss, before grabbing the wings from Harry and shoving them into the cab before climbing in himself. “Shows what you know.”

Nick must have already given their driver directions because they pull off moments later, Nick fiddling with his phone while Louis turns around to watch Harry through the rear window. He stands motionless and perfectly silhouetted against the fluorescent streetlight, his curls creating a halo effect around the edges. He looks breathtaking, like something that has no business existing on this world, and yet here he is.

He gets out his phone and with only minor difficulty manages to send Harry a text message.

_you can pick the wings up at my place. anytime._

And because he likes his emojis, he follows it up with the smiley face topped with a halo.

“I’ve got this,” he tells Nick, who gives him a confused but supportive thumbs up.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry has spent the last twenty minutes listening to Gemma prattling on about Matthew. It’s difficult to stay objective when Harry just dislikes the guy so much, when he would like nothing but to tell Gemma to wake the fuck up and leave him.

But he can’t do that. Everyone is entitled to their own mistakes.

At least Matthew doesn’t have any darker character flaws apart from coasting through life on his parents’ money. And Harry’s talked to Gemma _in detail_ about how kids would be completely out of the question until that was resolved, and she’d always agreed, even stated she didn’t feel close to ready, herself.

So really, Harry can only listen to her complain and try to keep his own opinions to himself. After the other night when he responded to Louis’ texts, a few things dawn on him though.

First, Gemma has been at this, this weird on-again off-again relationship for close to five years, now. Surely, if she really wanted to leave him, she would have? Sometimes Harry even thinks she might just like the drama a bit too much, the extremes her relationship goes through on a semi-regular schedule. Maybe she’s just wired differently, needs that in her life to stay interested in a relationship.

And Harry might not be able to understand that from his own experiences, but he can accept that they’re just different that way.

Harry wants to melt into his partner, body, mind and soul. That sort of connection does not allow for the doubt and indecision that fuel his sister's experiences. When he commits, he wants to do so with every cell of his body, wants to feel that from the other person. He wants the intensity to generate from the _person_ , not the situation.

That doesn’t mean he never fights, quite the opposite actually. He fights all the fiercer because he _knows_ he’s in this completely, because he knows so is his opposite. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a relationship for him, but a shallow imitation that lacks a solid foundation.

It doesn’t mean he’s right, it only means they’re different.

And he’s fine with that, so he bites his tongue and listens to his sister complain.

The second idea that crosses his mind, is actually just the extension of that thought. If Gemma doesn’t need fixing because there’s nothing really wrong with her then -- well, that would take away one factor of his self-imposed points that prohibit him from dating, right?

And this train of thought is getting him bloody nowhere and damn Louis for wriggling under his defenses like that.

“By the way, mum asked if you’re going to the fundraiser now or what?”

He pulls himself out of his trance, had only been half-listening because honestly, he’s heard it all before. “Fundraiser?”

“Yeah. She invited you some time ago. Jay and her son invited her and if you can’t, then I’ll go.”

Harry bites his lip. It’s probably a bad idea to see Louis again. Dangerous, even. It’s far too late for an innocent, no-strings-attached night for them now. And of course he’s curious, of course he wants to. It's a really bad idea.

“I’ll go,” he hears himself say.

“Well, then bloody tell her. I’m not here to deliver your messages.”

He sighs in that way he only ever does when his sister is around and grabs for his phone.

 

+++

 

The venue is richly decorated and they’re even serving food. Harry is staring at it, not hungry at all. Maybe seeing Louis again after almost two weeks of just, well, living in an endless memory loop of their kiss, wasn’t the wisest choice. Especially since Louis is clearly in his element here, delivered a speech to everyone that had goose bumps rising on Harry’s arms.

He blames it on the complete radio silence since that kiss.

So okay, maybe he came here partly to see Louis again, maybe find out why his texts have stopped, why he hasn’t even come around to the club anymore. Harry had even been the one to text him first, told him about the list he was on now, the one that ensured him free access. Everyone at the club had looked at him like he’d grown a third head, the mere existence of such a list unheard of before Louis.

Louis is also the first person Harry has banned anyone to dance for, but that’s neither here nor there.

Seeing Louis today, dressed up in a formal suit with his hair styled back, giving an impassioned speech advertising the importance of donating blood -- and money of course -- it had hit Harry like a train just how much he _admired_ Louis. Simply for being the wonderful, giving person he is. That’s a dangerous thought to have, playing right into Louis’ declaration of making him fall in love.

Harry doesn’t want to fall in love. He doesn’t want a relationship. Not since… well. He’s got other things to concentrate on right now.

He almost jumps when there’s a soft touch to his waist, a murmured, “there you are,” coming from behind him.

He twirls around and there Louis is, a sparkle in his eyes that doesn’t bode well for Harry.

He wants to tell Louis how stunning he looks, how he can’t stop thinking about the night at the club. What comes out is a soft, “your speech was, God, I don’t even know. Powerful.”

This isn’t the way he wanted this conversation to go at all. He sounds so in awe he’s a little disgusted with himself.

“Yeah?” Louis rocks on his feet, just a tiny bit, like he’s pleased with himself and trying to hide it. “Did you donate blood?”

Harry pushes up his left sleeve and shows Louis the little band aid in the crook of his elbow. “Right when I came in.”

Louis _beams_ at him and suddenly Harry forgets how to breathe. And then the hand on his waist gently nudges him and Louis nods towards a corner of the room. “Come on. Lottie wants to say hi.”

“Uhm, okay,” Harry says, confused as Louis steers him towards his sister.

It’s small talk at best and Harry is immensely relieved. He isn’t sure why he’d imagined Louis telling his sister about them, or why he thought she would dig into him, tell him to man up and settle down. Instead they talk about her honeymoon and the dinner at his mum's place she missed.

Then she’s whisked off by her husband, who declares ‘their song’ just started playing and they need to dance now _,_ regardless of whether anyone else is or not.

“Enjoying yourself so far?” Louis murmurs, his hand back on Harry’s waist, gently nudging him in whatever direction he wants them to go.

“Sure. Haven’t been to a lot of fundraisers. Didn’t know they were so interactive. With the blood giving, I mean.”

Louis hums, greeting and older couple but not stopping for a chat. “We do feel it’s important to engage people. Makes them more committed to our cause.”

Harry laughs softly. “You know, I never thought about it, but maybe charities are really lucky when they’re led not by a mere humanitarian, but one that has a strong sense of business.”

They’ve reached a side door, one that Louis opens before heading through, hand having migrated from Harry’s waist to his wrist, now gently pulling him along. He turns left into a coatroom. The moment Louis closes the door behind them they’re engulfed by a semi-darkness, just enough light for a glint in Louis’ eyes when he pushes Harry back against the door.

“I don’t know much about business,” Louis says, stepping closer. “But I do know a lot about people.”

“You know how to manipulate people,” Harry translates. “That’s why you always get what you want.”

Louis’ hands slip over his chest and he leans more weight against him. “Don’t always get what I want,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to Harry’s mouth. “You aren’t kissing me yet, for one.”

Harry surges forward, connecting their lips, pushing his tongue into Louis’ mouth, eager and desperate right from the start.

Louis chuckles and presses him back. He gentles the kiss, gives Harry nothing more than little pecks until he relaxes back into the door. He bends his knees slightly, just to make it easier for Louis. His heart is still racing and his breathing is still heavy, but once he’s calmed down outwardly, Louis opens his mouth and gently strokes his tongue over his lips, pushes between them.

This kiss is deep and controlled, one of Louis’ hands sliding up to tangle in Harry’s hair. He uses that grip to angle his head. Harry goes with it, easy, stops himself from thinking and just enjoys the way they’re pressed together, both of Louis’ feet bracketing his. He’s warm like this, comfortable in a way he never wants to end.

It does, of course, and when they break apart they’re both panting, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed.

“Hi,” Louis says when he pulls back, not too far, body still pushing against Harry’s.

And it’s kind of ridiculous, but Harry can’t help it, strokes Louis’ cheekbone and whispers back, “hi.”

He giggles then and Louis gets this unbearably fond look on his face before he joins in, fingers still splayed over Harry’s rapidly beating heart. He’s maybe missed Louis more than he let himself believe before. The way he smells of his cologne, the more familiar smell of _Louis_ faint beneath but still detectable.

“Can’t stay here long.”

He clutches Louis close, not prepared to let him go quite yet. “Kiss me again.”

Louis levels him with a look. “Don’t be pushy.”

Harry pouts, his fingers playing along the edges of Louis’ collar. “What if I’d offer you some incentive?”

“And what would that be?”

This is too easy, but Harry is still going with it because sometimes the obvious response is also the best. “Ever fantasised about a blowie in a coatroom?”

Louis pulls back, straightening his clothes and getting some distance between them. The look he levels Harry with is still dirty as hell. “Have _you_?”

And then, of course, that’s exactly what Harry imagines, Louis dropping to his knees right here, both of them fumbling to get his dress pants unfastened, Louis looking up at him, cheeky, maybe teasingly, anything but demurely and --

“You coming?”

And that one is so easy he decides to let it go because Louis is thinking it anyway. Instead he follows Louis back out to the main event area with enough space between them for it to be respectable. Even if his thoughts are anything but.

“Louis!” comes his mum’s voice moments later. “The star of the evening.”

“Oh no,” Louis says in a sure voice. “I’m just asking people for money and their blood, that hardly makes me a star.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, dear. Your speech was amazing, people are still talking about it.” She turns to him. “Aren’t they darling?”

“They sure are,” Harry agrees.

Louis nods his thanks, but Harry doesn’t get the impression he’s taking the praise to heart. It’s not that he’s insecure about it, he seems very confident in the work he does. So confident, in fact, that people's niceties don’t sway his opinion. Harry likes that, likes the strength behind it. And the fact that Louis clearly doesn’t do this for the attention, deflecting that kind of small talk skillfully, rather reminding people why they’re here.

“You really are a good businessman. Got your eye on the prize.” It comes out before he can think about it and earns him a frown from his mum. He laughs it off, watching Louis watch him while he explains, “we were talking earlier, about how his sense of business is profiting his charity work.”

“Oh yes, of course. I can see that,” his mum says, smiling warmly at Louis. And it’s weird but also fascinating how he has everyone wrapped around his little finger so effortlessly. “That’s probably why you stuck to the more hands-on part of charity.”

“Hands-on?” It sounds in no way dirty, the way Louis says it. And yet Harry can’t help his mind from going there either way.

“Oh yes, Harry is more the type to help the people he comes into contact with, be it a hot meal or a job.” Her hand comes up to cover her mouth before she reaches out to touch Louis’ arm. “I don’t mean one is better than the other, never would. Just meant that there’s so many ways to help people. While you’re both approaching it differently neither way is better.”

Louis smiles, lines crinkling his eyes. “No, I know what you mean, no offense taken. You have a point, I see it.”

“Oh good,” she says, hand over her heart. “Thought I’d really stepped into it there. And all just because I don’t see Harry as much of a business person.”

“Well he can’t be that bad. I mean the club seems to be doing well?”

The moment the words leave his mouth, Louis’ eyes widen as he seeks out Harry’s gaze, already turning apologetic. Next to him, his mum stands frozen to the spot.

“Oh honestly,” Harry huffs. “Mum, he knows about the club, he was there and he’s friends with Niall. Louis, I haven’t been keeping my job secret from my mum for years, she knows as well. She’s even been there once or twice.”

The uncomfortable atmosphere evaporates quickly, Louis’ expression perking up. “Really? Do you have like ladies nights?”

“No,” Harry laughs. “No, she just watches the normal shows. Always good fun, aren’t they?”

“Stop that,” she tells him, only slightly flustered. “Don’t tease your mum, that’s not very nice.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mum. Love you too much for that.”

She just harrumphs dramatically, so he leans in and gives her a quick peck to her cheek. When he pulls back, that fond smile is back on Louis’ face.

They’re interrupted then, Louis whisked off to do his job. Harry circulates the room with his mum instead, but his thoughts keep returning to Louis while he smiles and nods along to the conversations his mum is having. She’s doing a lot of schmoozing tonight, building connections and meeting new people, a spark back in her eye he’d been missing for too long.

He sees Louis several times, flitting from one group to the next. He looks so comfortable in his skin, effortlessly professional and unbearably attractive. Their gazes meet occasionally and it’s almost secretive, exciting, because Louis might be working, but he still dragged Harry away to kiss him so thoroughly his lips still tingle now.

When they head home eventually Louis’ eyes burn into his during their goodbyes, suggestive and teasing. Harry’s skin prickles and his hands almost reach out on their own accord. It’s a wonder the place doesn’t spontaneously combust.

But, without burning the place to the ground, he manages to get himself and his mum to the car. He drops her off first then heads to work. Liam had opened up today and he’s only about two hours later than normal. There’s customers already on the main floor, maybe a few less than he’d like for a friday evening, but these lulls happen, he’s long since learned not to worry too much when they do.

“Heya,” he says cheerfully as he marches into Liam’s little office. He’s bent over some paperwork, probably invoices. Harry refuses to do them after the Big Filing Disaster, the one they don’t speak of. The one before any sort of filing system was even implemented.

“Good charity thingy?”

“Very good. Got to kiss Louis again.”

Liam just rolls his eyes before thrusting a paper at him. “This ring a bell?”

Harry scans the amount and the invoice header before landing on the description. “Is that the LED light tables?”

Liam snatches it back. “Why did I let you buy these, again? They’re fucking expensive.”

Harry pokes him in the side. “Because of my winning personality.”

Liam snorts. “Yeah, that has to be it.”

Harry shimmies out of his jacket and throws it over a nearby chair. “Everything okay so far?”

Liam nods, sitting back down and marking the invoice with a little tick from his pencil before placing it on one of the stacks in front of him. “Yeah, all’s well. Sophia said the fridge by the main bar is acting up again, makes that rattling noise. She turned it off and is working with just the other ones.

Harry nods. “Need me to call the repair guy again?”

Liam shakes his head. “Already done.”

“I see you’ve got everything under control.”

Liam does look up then, a mixture of pride and happiness on his face. “Thanks. Learned from the best.”

Harry blows him a kiss before leaving him to his stacks of papers. He ends up on the couch in the room the boys use to get ready, huge lit mirrors everywhere and personal stuff strewn all around. He pulls out his phone and opens the new text from Louis.

_so tell me about these strays you take in_

Strays? Well that’s one word for it, probably. Harry chews his thumbnail while he thinks what to say, wants to keep this short but fails miserably.

_That’d be two of my bartenders, one dancers and my business partner, Liam, I guess? And maybe one day they’ll tell you their story. They were down on their luck and I had the opportunity to help them, give them a job, make sure they had a place to stay. Nothing major, definitely nothing on your scale._

While he waits for a reply, Thomas comes in for a change of clothes. “Drunk customer, spilled his drink on my shirt,” he explains while peeling himself out of his soaked clothes. There’s a bathroom with two showers attached and by the time he reaches it he’s fully undressed, his wings carefully hung up on one of the hooks.

“He making trouble?”

“Nah,” he says, reaching for a towel. “Was very apologetic, tipped outrageously.”

Harry nods. “That’s good. Otherwise come to me.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Thomas snorts then grins. “Charm him to death?” The door clicks behind him and the water starts moments later.

Harry looks down at his phone.

_dont sell yourself short curly_

Moments later he gets another one

_hey can i ask you a question?_

_Sure._

_why did your last relationship end?_

Harry looks at the message for a long moment, gets up and starts pacing. He types it out, all of it, before deleting it again.

Then he stuffs his phone into his trousers and heads downstairs, does quick rounds just to see everything is fine. It is, granting him no further distraction.

Since Liam is here tonight, he allows himself one drink, gets Sophia to make him a ridiculously fruity concoction that almost knocks him off his barstool. Then he pulls out his phone again.

_He didn’t love me the way I loved him._

He sends this much shorter message before turning off his phone. He looks around, for once doesn’t see any immediate situation that requires his attention.

And so he goes upstairs to get started on his own paperwork. There’s _always_ paperwork. His life might not be glamorous, but the monotonous task should take his mind off of Darren.

 

+++

 

Several days pass, Harry’s life soon back to his old routine. His old routine and the added benefits of near constant texting with Louis.

He’s tried asking Harry about Darren again, but in the end, they’d both decided that maybe this type of talk should be done face-to-face. If Harry is honest, it had been as good an excuse for him as any to not broach the subject.

He hasn’t texted with Louis for a good hour now, the last one a tube selfie he’d sent him, tongue sticking out and his eyes crossed.

The music downstairs is already blaring, and it’s still a good half hour till they open. It’s not unusual for the boys to start the music up beforehand, get themselves hyped up for the evening. But there’s cheers between the lulls in music, someone changing the songs like they’re looking for something more fitting.

Harry sighs, pushes his paperwork away and heads downstairs to investigate.

“What do you mean ‘clamp the pole with my thighs’?” comes a familiar voice. “The denim is slippery!”

No.

That can’t be right, he wouldn’t -- Harry takes the last few steps two at a time, bursting into the main area just as the sound system starts up again.

Louis is on the main stage, in a fucking leather jacket of all things, the lights and music odd in the empty club. Cameron is up there with him, showing him how to grip the pole while he spins around. Louis wraps his thighs around it as well, but there isn’t enough speed, so he slowly slides down until his bum gently collides with the stage.

Louis giggles. Full on pulling his shoulders up and giggling, while the guys stand around and join in.

“At least that was a soft landing,” Thomas shouts from the back. “All thanks to your bum.”

And okay, that’s quite enough of that.

Moments later Harry has elbowed his way through the dancers. “What are you doing?” he asks Louis as he slowly gets up and pats his bum, like he’s cleaning off the dust.

“Hi, Harry,” Louis says easily. “I asked them to teach me some moves.”

“He isn’t half bad,” Cameron chirps in with a knowing look in Harry’s direction.

Louis hops off the stage easily and comes to stand by Harry. “If all else fails, I could always work here.”

“No,” Harry says, trying not to grit his teeth. “You couldn’t.”

“But he really isn’t half bad,” Charlie says.

“You’re too rich to ever have to worry about a job.”

Louis smiles at him and pats his chest, his palm burning through the thin material of Harry’s silk shirt. He turns to address the guys, pointing a dismissive thumb in Harry’s direction. “Almost sounds jealous, doesn’t he?” There’s a few snickers from the crowd. “Almost like, I don’t know, we’re dating or something.”

“Has he finally pulled his head out of his arse, then?” comes Cameron's high voice. Harry is going to fire him, just as soon as he finds a decent replacement.

“Not yet,” Louis says easily. He turns back to Harry and gives him a wink. “I’m still working on it.”

It dawns on Harry then that this entire thing was most likely orchestrated. Louis hadn’t been lying; he really _is_ a resourceful bastard.

“Come on,” he says, pushing Louis towards the stairs. “We can talk upstairs.” There’s a flurry of catcalls and jeers from the guys that has Louis laughing again, his walk just a little bit more pronounced, arse swaying. With monumental effort Harry wrenches his eyes away and turns around to address the guys. “You lot better get ready,” he says loudly. He’s aiming for stern but misses by a mile.

Cameron is making kissy faces at him, a few of the others miming something not quite as G-rated. Honestly, he should just change the entire staff, the current lot is clearly useless.

“That’s playing unfair,” he says once they’re upstairs in the office.

Louis hops onto the table, feet dangling as he says, “all’s fair in love and war.”

Harry rolls his eyes but steps closer, hands coming to rest on Louis’ knees. He makes sure to lock their gazes before gently pushing them apart because fuck it all, he’s had enough of denying himself, of being baited at the same time. They might not be on the same page, but that does _not_ mean they can’t come to a mutually beneficial understanding. “Do you want to come to my place tonight?”

Louis looks up at him, sultry and teasing, and Harry could swear the angle is done purposefully. Louis is just the guy to practice his smouldering look in front of the mirror. It’s clearly paid off.

Small fingers encircle his wrists, stop him from pushing Louis’ thighs further apart. He steps between them anyway, sideways at first before rotating his hips, making room for himself between Louis’ legs. “Please, Louis. Want to take you home tonight.”

“And what would you do with me then?”

Harry presses his lower body closer. “Would peel you out of your clothes slowly, kiss you all over.” His hand twists out of Louis’ grip to rest at the small of his back. With one hard yank, he pulls Louis closer, aligning their crotches. “Would open you up, and I’d _really_ take my time with it. And then I’d fuck you, not too fast, not too slow. Just at the right speed.”

“Hmm,” Louis says, not looking up from where he’s stroking the skin under Harry’s belly button where his shirt is hanging open. Then Louis leans back, both palms placed far enough behind him on the table that his shoulders push slightly forward. “What if I don’t want you to fuck me?”

Harry opens his mouth, closes it again. He’s a bit thrown. Sure, Louis had been the initiating force in their last -- and sadly only -- sexual encounter, and Harry wouldn’t be at all opposed to changing it up. But surely Louis isn’t dead set on certain roles? That’s just so… “I mean, if you really don’t want to, that’s fine. You can also just fuck me.”

The look Louis gives him is assessing, all-seeing, and lasts forever before he heaves a sigh and pushes Harry back.

Harry resists. “Do you not bottom? Like at all?”

Louis looks at him shrewdly before pinching his hip, hard, and hopping off the table when Harry flinches back. “Definitely wouldn’t if it were only a one time thing.”

Harry nods. It’s a trust issue then, he gets that. “It’s okay,” he says, dropping his voice low and stepping close to Louis, his hands immediately back on his body. “You can fuck me, I don’t mind.”

“A terrific offer,” Louis says. “One I plan to take you up on. Soon.”

Harry pouts. “Not tonight?”

Louis shakes his head and dances out of reach. “You aren’t ready.” Behind the desk he sits down in the chair and surveys the mess on the table. “Let me guess, you have a system.”

Harry looks at the stacks of papers, the post-it reminders and the notepad full of doodles. “Yes.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Louis tells him. “You even lie to yourself.”

Harry frowns. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” Louis tells him from his own office chair. “And because you can’t run from yourself. Or your problems.”

Whatever teasing mood had remained leaves Harry all at once. He crosses his arms before his chest and tries not to scowl too deeply. “And what would you know about my problems?”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? You lie so much to yourself, you no longer share the truth with anyone else.”

He can feel anger bubbling up inside of him but tamps it down. “What the fuck is this?”

Louis surges up from his seat and stalks around the table, coming to stand squarely in front of him. “I’m provoking you, you idiot. Because you’re bottling shit up and it’s eating away at you. Just let it out. Tell me about the relationship that fucked you up. Let’s deal with it.”

Harry wants to laugh because honestly? Does Louis _really_ think the head-on approach will work here? “If you think this will make me fall in love with you, you’re sorely mistaken. But if you keep this up, I might just learn to resent you.”

Louis smiles with no humour whatsoever. “See, now we’re finally talking. No bull-shit answers, no fake small-talk. I want to know how you really feel and my ego isn’t fragile enough to break under the truth.” He steps closer. “Freeing, isn’t it?”

It churns inside of him, a concoction of anger and bottled up feelings. And, maybe, a curiosity on what it would be like to just tell someone everything he’s feeling without any repercussions to go with it.

“There’s no deep, dark secret, if that’s what you’re hoping for. I don’t have a big story to tell.”

Louis doesn’t back down, shrugs instead. “I didn’t think so. But I do believe you’ve been holding yourself back for years. It’s become second nature and now you do it automatically, don’t even think about it anymore. You’ve forgotten how it feels like, how important it is to get it all out.” He takes a step closer, right into Harry’s personal space. “Tell me. Whatever you want. Whatever is on your mind. Big or small, I don’t fucking care. Tell me why your last relationship tanked, why you’re so afraid to try again.”

There’s a fire in Louis’ eyes he’s never seen before. One he isn’t quite sure what to do with. “No.”

“Why not?” Louis steps closer still, causing Harry to take a step back. “I promise I won’t run.”

And that hits closer to home than it has any right to. Because people leave, for selfish reasons or like Darren, overwhelmed by Harry’s depth of feeling. Either way, it’s taught him to guard his feelings, guard his words, to prevent it from happening again.

As if reading his mind Louis says, “come on. We aren’t even anything. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

And that is the million dollar question, isn’t it?

Even while standing still, Louis, manages to exude energy, vibrating with his shoulders squared and his hands clenched into fists. He’s goading Harry, but it’s not leaving him unaffected, he’s not doing it for his own pleasure. No, Harry firmly believes he’s doing it because he’s genuinely trying to help.

He opens his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue. But before they can spill out he thinks about it, thinks about how his story is really nothing special, shouldn’t be made into such a big deal. After all, it’s just the story of two people with vastly different definitions of love, one that ended in a broken heart for him.

His story isn’t tragic, isn’t big. If he told it now after all this build up, it would sound absolutely ridiculous.

He shakes his head. “There’s nothing to tell, really. We just didn’t fit.”

He watches the change come over Louis’ face, watches the challenge morph into disappointment. “You’re still lying.”

“I’m not lying,” Harry tries.

But Louis still takes a step back, the fight slowly leaving his body. Harry feels like he’s failed him somehow and it leaves him empty, cold. “You’re not being truthful, either. It --” he motions between them, “ _this,_ it won’t work unless you’re being truthful. I understand it’s difficult, I just wish... well.”

Harry laughs. It sounds hollow to his own ears, yet he still says, “don’t need to tell you my life story for a one-night stand.”

“See.” Louis sighs, heading for the door and pulling it open. “Still lying to yourself.” He turns back to Harry, suddenly looking small. “I won’t bother you anymore. I mean this is fun, but I’m starting to feel like I’m pressuring you into something you aren’t ready for, which is decidedly less fun. So, like, come see me when you’re ready to talk, yeah?”

And with that he heads down the corridor, walking away from Harry who is still rooted to the spot, mind spinning while indecision rages inside him.

 

+++

 

It’s been two weeks since, well...

Harry won’t allow himself to think about that because it will inevitably put him in a foul mood. He’s over wanting things he can’t have, is over feeling like shit, over it all. He should just go out and get laid, find some random guy to scratch that itch. Only a random guy won’t do at all and that’s what frustrates him, like a child agitated with a playmate, he wants it all to just go away. He isn’t above throwing a tantrum.

Maybe he actually should do that, just to be less irritable.

“You’re a fucking drama queen,” Niall tells him after he’s just spilled the entire sordid story over breakfast.

“It’s your fault, anyway. You were the one who left his phone unlocked so he could find out about the club. Don’t think one portion of Thai Curry will make up for it.”

“Eh,” Niall says, supremely unbothered by his role in all this. It makes Harry’s teeth grind on their own accord. “He’s a good lad, you’d be lucky to have him.”

“Yes, yes, Louis Tomlinson is a fucking saint. We all got that. Which is just another reason why this is a _bad_ idea, isn’t it? Can you imagine me at one of his events? Like as his boyfriend? He’d lose all his sponsors.”

Niall leans back in his chair and gives him a _look_. Then he says, slow and clear, “and yet you thought it was a good idea to take off your clothes for him. Ever wonder why?”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Sex exists without being loved-up boyfriends.”

Niall gets up and carefully gathers the dirty dishes. Harry follows him to the kitchen, own arms laden down with the rest. “And water is wet.”

“Yes.”

Niall sighs, placing the last plate in the dishwasher before crossing his arms and staring Harry down. “You’re already falling for him.”

“I am _not_.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Fine. But if you two have sex now, it’ll be more than a one-night stand, there’s no denying it.” When Harry doesn’t reply, he continues, “don’t be an idiot, Harry. You are the relationship type of guy, just how you are the type to always want to solve other people’s problems -- it makes you a good person, so stop pulling that face -- but it also makes you somewhat blind to your own wants and needs.”

Niall steps closer and grabs both of Harry’s ears, looking at him without blinking. Then he mimes taking something off of Harry’s head, accompanying the movement with a loud popping sound. “That was me, metaphorically pulling your head out of your arse, okay? Now do me and everyone else who has been exposed to your moods recently a _huge_ favour and go tell Louis you’re sorry for being wrong, that you want to have his babies and that he’s the best thing that ever happened to you, yes?”

Harry doesn’t even know what to say.

“I need you two to make up, okay?” Something changes in Niall’s expression and he looks sideways. “I think Misty might be accidentally pregnant. Not fat, as I’d thought at first. I need you two to take one of her kittens, I’m running out of space.”

Harry snorts. “You have like seventy cats, what’s a handful more?”

“I have fourteen!” Niall says indignantly, totally proving Harry’s point.

“I’m not going to start dating Louis so you have a place for your cats.”

Niall strides over to Harry’s fridge and scribbles something on the whiteboard, next to the list of groceries. “That’s Louis’ address. Now stop being unnecessarily complicated and go grovel for being an arsehat. I have better shit to do than watch you pine all day.”

“I’m not pining!”

“Yeah,” Niall says with a snort, grabbing his jacket while stomping towards the door. Harry shouldn’t have said anything about his cats, it’s the only thing that gets Niall actually mad. “You’re in denial, you’re pining and you’re still being an arsehat!”

He slams the door behind him when he leaves.

Harry sighs, looks at the address scribbled on his fridge.

Niall is wrong. He doesn’t need Louis. He definitely doesn’t need to visit him at that address.

Right.

He manages to _not_ visit that address. For a couple of days.

 

+++

 

Harry might be a little drunk. Not much though.

He tells that to the balding guy behind the concierge desk at Louis’ flat -- a concierge service, how ridiculous is that?

“Yes, sir,” he says into the phone dutifully. He gives Harry another once-over. He just about manages not to sniff in disgust. “Are you certain? He seems to be… under the influence, sir.”

“I’m not that drunk!” Harry says loudly, mostly for Louis’ benefit on the other end. “Now let me the fuck up or I’m going back home.”

The guy nods, giving Harry a view of the circular patch of hairless skin on his head. “Very well, sir.”

He doesn’t mask his distaste when he leads Harry to the elevators, past the normal ones and towards the one that has no button to call. He presses a key card against the electronic field and it slides open nearly soundless. Inside, he taps the only button -- marked penthouse -- and swipes his key card again.

He steps out, leaving Harry alone in the elevator.

“He’s got several panic buttons,” the guy warns him, “linked to an armed response team.”

The doors slide shut before him and Harry is still staring like an idiot when they open again and he’s looking right at a living room. It’s open plan and he can see the kitchen and dining area as well. There’s a leather couch and arc lamp with a huge marble block as a base. A staircase leads to up a level just to the side of him. He can make out the edges of a rumpled bed by the huge window-front and Harry can’t help it, wonders what it’s like to wake up and stare out over the city while still snuggled up in bed.

It all looks… expensive.

“You gonna step out or just stay in there?”

He jolts at Louis’ words, steps forward without even deciding to. “Uhm,” he says, looking down at his scuffed shoes. The sole is coming loose on the left one, he can see it from here. They look horribly out of place. “Hi.”

Louis is wearing joggers with the ends stuffed into his socks, combined with a hoodie so huge, Harry can’t even see his hands. He looks nothing like he did at the club; dressed up in designer clothes both times. He does look just as delectable though.

“He left me because I loved him too much,” he blurts before he loses his nerve. “Darren, I mean. My last relationship. It got too intense too quickly and he couldn’t handle it. We fit and I thought this was it. I let go and it scared him.”

A small smile plays at the corners of Louis’ lips, sad and knowing. “And it hurt all the more when he left. Because you were all in.”

“Yeah,” Harry says softly. He isn’t sure why he’d expected Louis to be triumphant when he, Harry, finally cracked. But this soft, understanding Louis might just be worse, showing Harry all the false assumptions he’s come up with over the past few weeks.

“He’s a fucking idiot. And I’m really thankful for that.” Louis takes his hand and pulls him over to the couch. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Harry gingerly lowers himself onto the soft cushions beside him, close enough for them to touch. They’re sitting opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down over the streets of London below. His eyes fix on a towel someone has hung out of their window off to the left, the red fabric flapping in the light breeze. “The words themselves were never the problem,” he says softly, honestly. “What comes with it is.”

Louis shifts, twists, until he’s lying on his back, head pillowed in Harry’s lap, looking up at him with a soft smile. He grabs for Harry’s hand and tangles their fingers together. “I’m not scary, I promise.”

Looking down at him, lying prone and open, there’s no doubt in his mind that Louis maneuvered himself into this position for several reasons. One has paid off, because Harry finds his free hand gently carding through Louis’ fringe, swiping it to the side while Louis blinks at him lazily. Louis had been right; having someone to blurt the truth out at does feel freeing. Like he wants to do it again. “You’re fucking terrifying.”

Another smile, this one decidedly more devious. “You’d be bored otherwise.”

“Probably,” Harry agrees.

The silence that falls around them is comfortable, easy, like they’ve been doing this for years.

“I looked up your charities earlier,” Harry tells him in a half-whisper.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Made a donation.”

Louis has a beautiful smile, soft and lovely, ready to tip over into cheeky territory at any moment. For now it stays languid, just like his voice. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. Two thousand and seven hundred.”

There’s a beat of silence. “That’s what I paid as an entry fee at your club.”

“It is,” Harry agrees. “Which is why I had to make that donation.”

Louis takes that in for a moment, thinks it through. And Harry really likes that about him, how his decisions never seem rash, quite unlike Harry himself, who often goes with his gut instead of his mind and it doesn’t always work out.

“Okay, that makes sense. Which charity did you choose?”

“The one with the kids,” Harry says immediately and Louis smiles.

“No surprise there.”

They stay like that for a long while, talking quietly. “You know,” Harry says into a hushed silence. “Not to be blunt here, but I thought, well, that we’d be fucking by now.”

“So crude,” Louis admonishes while sitting up and stretching. He throws one leg over Harry’s lap and settles in. Once they’re face to face he asks softly, “hey, Harry?”

Harry slides his hands under his jumper, rests them on his waist, stretching his fingers to see if they’ll touch. They don’t, but he still keeps his palms there, feels the warm skin slide easily under his grip. “Yeah?”

Louis smiles, different yet again, this one teasing. He looks like a man who knows what he wants and is secure in the knowledge of how to get it. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Harry doesn’t move, looks for that honesty from earlier while his fingers dig into the flesh of Louis’ hips. “Yes.”

A flash of teeth. “Just making sure. Before the fucking starts, I mean.”

The satisfaction of getting his way looks good on Louis and something explodes inside of Harry, something he’d been tamping down since that night at the club. _Need_. He’s suddenly frantic, his fingers sliding up Louis’ ribs, hot skin under his touch.

But Louis is fast, clamps his hands around his wrists and forces them down, away from skin on skin contact, presses them down into the soft fabric of the couch instead. “Would you like some dinner?”

Harry blinks, confused. “What?”

“Dinner,” Louis says brightly. We might have to order in, I don’t think there’s much apart from tea and biscuits in my kitchen right now.”

Before Harry can formulate a response, Louis jumps up and walks over to the kitchen. By the time he’s up and has adjusted his trousers, the kettle is already boiling.

He slides onto a barstool by the counter, watching Louis putter around. “What are you doing?”

“Making tea,” Louis says, pulling said tea from a cupboard. “Do you take milk? Bought some fresh this morning.” He gets some biscuits as well and pushes them in front of Harry.

“No I mean, what are you doing? Why are you making tea?”

Louis stops and spins around slowly, milk still in hand and a regretful expression on his face. “Listen. If you don’t drink tea, I might not be able to date you, after all. There’s a lot I can put up with, but even I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“What?” Harry laughs. He has no idea why Louis is suddenly so dead-set on making tea, but he’s too endearing for him not to see the humour in the situation. “Of course I like tea. Who doesn’t like tea?”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Louis says with vehemence, sliding in next to him, milk still in hand. He twirls one strand of Harry’s hair around his finger before saying earnestly, “just got you as a boyfriend. Would have been the shortest relationship of my life. And that’s saying something.”

And then they’re kissing, Harry hot and eager and Louis slow and gentle. Louis pulls back, giggling softly. “Relax, Harry. There’s no need to rush. I’m making tea.”

“Yes but _why_?” Harry whines, trying to get him to put down the milk, put those hands to better use.

“What a ridiculous question,” Louis chides while he extricates himself before heading for the kettle. “Because tea fixes everything, of course.”

Harry pouts while watching him. Louis isn’t saying no, isn’t rejecting him. He’s just taking his time, and maybe that’s what Harry needs to learn here.

“So, how short was your shortest relationship, then?”

Louis looks up from his work, brows wrinkled. “Hm. Not counting one-night stands? Three weeks, I think.”

Harry laughs, can’t help it. “That’s very flighty of you.”

Louis waves it away. “I was young and dumb. And also a bit of an idiot, if you can believe that. What with me being such a well-rounded person now.”

Harry has to bite his tongue in order not to make that into a joke, especially when Louis bends down while chucking the empty milk container into the recycling bin, well-rounded arse in full view.

Louis places a steaming mug before him and hops onto the barstool besides his, tangling their feet. “Was Darren your last relationship then?”

And it’s weird because they’re sitting here drinking tea, Louis blowing onto the mug in his hands while asking him questions Harry has avoided for months now. “Yes.”

Louis looks at him over the edge of his mug. “Was he the last person you had sex with?”

Harry hesitates, unsure where Louis is going with this. “No.”

Louis nods. “That’s good, then, no hang-ups there, yeah?”

“With sex? No, that was never really an issue for me.”

Louis grins, all slow and mischievous. “Well colour me surprised, Mr. I Have Sex At Work.”

“That didn’t count.”

“True, true,” Louis agrees, corners of his lips curled up. He takes a sip of his tea while sliding his foot up Harry’s calve. “But you did impose that relationship hiatus onto yourself. Care to share the reasoning?”

Harry has ignored his tea so far, choosing instead to wrap his hands around Louis’ leg, just above the knee, and feel the muscle move there. He looks at it for a long moment, gets distracted by the shape of Louis’ thighs and doesn’t look up when he answers. “I gave myself all these reasons, you know? Had to concentrate on the club, help Gemma and my mum with whatever their issues were, the timing was off, all that.”

He hears Louis slide his mug onto the counter before gently nudging Harry’s face up. Louis just looks at him patiently. “You were hurt. We’re allowed to lie to ourselves if it makes us feel better,” he says softly. “But once we’re actually better, we need to stop. Think you’ve done that?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “That’s why I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

Harry gently wraps his hands around Louis’ wrists and pulls their hands into his lap. He nods. “Yes. The club is fine, my mum is fine and Gemma -- well, she’s the same, but she has been for years. In the end it’s her choice.” He takes a deep breath before saying, “I want to give this a shot. Us.”

“Good,” Louis murmurs as he slides off the stool to lean in for another kiss.

He tastes of tea and happiness and Harry can’t help it, drags him closer, wants more. “Louis,” he whispers desperately.

“Not tonight, love.” Harry tries very hard not to let the disappointment show on his face and Louis continues with a soft chuckle, “I’m meeting my mum for dinner, actually. You have really bad timing. And we should probably go out on a date first. Better do this right, hadn’t we?”

Harry pulls back, sighing heavily. Louis is right, of course he is. That doesn’t mean he has to like it. “Hey Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d love to take you out to dinner. You free tomorrow?”

Louis laughs. “Yeah sure, Curly. Tomorrow is perfect. Pick me up at seven.”

 

+++

 

Harry wakes up to blinding sunlight two days later. And a pleasant ache in his arse.

It’s actually the second time today they wake up, the one before having started with slow kisses and ending in both of them stumbling into the bathroom to brush their teeth. They’d continued kissing, minty fresh this time, falling asleep again between one peck and the next.

He smiles happily at nothing, snuggling further into the bed. Last night had been… well... pretty much what he’d expected sex with Louis to be like, but when are one’s expectations ever met? Like never, that’s when. But last night had been glorious and Harry is so happy he has to stifle a giggle.

Unlike his bedroom at home, with its heavy electric outside blinds and blackout curtains for maximum darkness, Louis’ apartment is open and airy and full of sunlight flooding in through the huge glass front, illuminating the high ceilings, the rays reaching them even on the bed on the second floor.

White sheets aren’t really the best combination with so much sunlight, Harry thinks while squinting at the soft cotton. But then his eyes fall on Louis sprawled out next to him, his sun-darkened skin, free of tattoos, his sharp jaw a fascinating contrast to the white softness of the bed. Louis has even more stubble than he did last night, a slight red tinge to it now that Harry looks closely. Louis’ mouth is slightly open while he sleeps, tendrils of hair forming an intricate pattern on the pillow.

Harry watches him sleep for what feels like hours, nothing more fascinating than watching his chest rise and fall.

“It’s creepy to stare.”

Harry smiles even though Louis can’t see it, having yet to open his eyes. “Can’t help it. You’re pretty.”

Louis smiles, still refusing to open his eyes. “Flattery will get you everywhere. Everything. Whatever. Just not now ‘cause I’m the biggest grump before my morning tea. Better get used to it.”

The smile on Harry’s face goes nuclear and he has to hide it in Louis’ shoulder, just in case he decides to open his eyes anyway. Getting used to it totally means Louis expects them to wake up next to each other again, it means Harry hasn’t completely fucked up.

He scoots closer when Louis stretches on his back and he leans in to kiss Louis’ collarbone first, then the hickey he left on his jaw last night. Louis’ stubble scratches his lips and he drags them along the bristle until they tingle.

“Ngh,” Louis mumbles, trying to bat him away ineffectively. “‘M tired.”

“Ssh,” Harry tells him, lips ghosting over Louis’. “Just let me...”

Louis grumbles and rolls away, which isn’t a hardship at all because it exposes his tanned back to Harry’s eyes. The sheets are tangled around his legs, the top edge barely covering the curve of his arse. Harry reaches out, trails his fingertips along the small of his back.

Soft, sleep-warm skin greets him and he flattens his palm to slide it up Louis’ back, over the protrusion of his shoulder blade right to the nape of his neck. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of his touch and he leans down to kiss it, smiles at Louis’ soft exhale. “So gorgeous,” he murmurs and Louis stretches beneath him, slow and sensuous.

He watches one brilliantly blue eye open half way. “I don’t top when I’m tired,” Louis tells him with a lazy challenge in his tone.

Butterflies erupt in Harry’s stomach, beat their wings excitedly against his ribs. Up until now he hadn’t believed in soulmates, but this might just convert him. He moves, blankets Louis’ body with his own, remembering to remove the sheet beforehand. It brings his front into contact with that sun-warmed skin, his half-hard erection resting snugly in the crease of Louis’ bum. “Didn’t ask you to.”

“Oh?” Louis says, sounding far away, like he’s falling asleep again. “What you want then?”

Harry nuzzles his ear, kisses along the warmth of his shoulder. “You,” he says unapologetically.

“Oh my god,” comes Louis’ reply. “You’re ridiculous.”

Ridiculously in love, Harry wants to say but can’t, not yet. So instead he settles on, “you’re gorgeous.”

Louis doesn’t reply, visible eye drifting shut again. Harry moves down, lips dragging over warm skin. Louis shifts his torso under the trail of kisses, stretches slow like a cat. Harry pays special attention to the dip beneath his shoulder blades, to the curve of his spine, the small of his back. He shifts, straddles Louis’ lower legs and leans down to lick the very top of his bum.

“Hmm,” Louis half says, half moans. Fascinated, Harry watches his languid twist, spine curving enticingly. He slides his hands further down, gripping each bum cheek tightly. Louis gasps when Harry holds him open, bucks at the first stroke of Harry’s tongue over his hole.

It doesn’t take long to have Louis panting, have him arching and writhing, sticking out his arse for easier access, for more. Everything is slow and languid and sweet, soft whimpers and breathy inhalations.

And all Harry has done so far is lick.

Louis’ hand closes around his wrist, clearly not to keep Harry from holding him open, more to ground him, Harry thinks.

Feeling like he’s teased enough, Harry points his tongue and pushes in. The grip on his wrist turns bruising as Louis lets out a deep groan that dissipates into breathy little moans when Harry starts on a rhythm; push in fast, pull out slow.

Louis’ hand slides from his wrist to the covers, white material scrunching in his fist as he arches, eyes shut and mouth open to pant. He’s so, so gorgeous and Harry would tell him again if his mouth wasn’t busy showing Louis just that.

“You -- ah.” Louis’ brow furrows as he pushes back onto Harry’s tongue, like the feeling is just too much, definitely too overwhelming to talk. “You gonna make me come like that?”

Harry pulls back, immediately replacing his tongue with a finger when Louis whimpers in protest. He gets distracted by the heat of it, the slow drag as he pushes in and pulls back out, spit-slick, over and over again. “Do you want to come like this?” he finally manages.

“Wouldn’t mind coming on your cock.”

Said cock blurts out more precome at Louis’ words and Harry almost can’t imagine replacing his finger with his dick. “Yeah?” he asks stupidly, can’t really think of anything else.

“Yeah,” Louis says on a sigh, pushing back, driving Harry’s finger deeper.

Harry reaches for the nightstand, grabs the still uncapped lube and a condom. He rolls it on right away, doesn’t want to be bothered with the logistics later.

Then he settles back down, holds Louis open and gets his tongue on him again.

Louis is soon back to those breathy whimpers, hips thrusting into the mattress and his hands scrabbling for purchase on the soft linen. Only then does Harry open him up with his fingers, slow and gentle, free hand chasing the heat from the sun on Louis’ skin. On the third finger Louis clenches suddenly. Harry mutters soothing words into his skin before sucking a love bite onto the side of his arse as a distraction.

Not long after, Louis relaxes, starts moving along with Harry’s fingers again. Taking that as a good sign, Harry decides to suck another love bite into the fleshiest part of Louis’ right cheek.

“What are you, a leech?” Louis grumbles. Harry bites his bum instead and spreads his fingers which distracts Louis nicely.

He’s just contemplating a fourth finger -- Louis is still tighter than Harry would like -- when Louis starts twisting in the sheets. “Come on, baby, ‘m ready,” he slurs, eyes shut once more, like he needs to experience everything with his other senses right now, no visual distractions.

Harry crawls up his body, slipping one arm underneath Louis’ torso and catching Louis’ wrist in his grip.

He pushes in slowly, oh so slowly, squeezing Louis’ wrist when he lets out a deep groan at the first stretch, a soft, high-pitched keening sound for every inch that follows.

Louis stiffens once and Harry stops immediately, pelting Louis with questions, if he wants him to pull out or stay. Generally, Harry rather likes his cock, some deep-seated part of his male ego that’s proud of it. In moments like these it’s nothing but a damn nuisance and everyone saying differently is just full of it.

“More,” Louis says eventually. Harry does, pulling back out a bit first before pressing forward again.

Finally all the way in, Harry rests his forehead against Louis’ nape, panting at the sheer pressure, the unimaginable heat. He gives Louis a moment, himself too, both of them adjusting, Louis panting heavily. “Okay?” he whispers, surprised at the desperation in his voice.

“‘M perfect, baby. You’re -- ah, fuck. You’re perfect. ‘S just been a while.”

They start moving at the same time, slow and careful giving way to languid and deep. Each time Harry presses in that extra inch, all the way he can go, Louis makes this deep, unconscious sound in his throat that’s driving Harry absolutely insane. Once Louis is completely used to it, he starts moving his smaller body underneath Harry’s. Not just thrusting back, but twisting, hands fisted in the sheets, moaning into them when he isn’t softly spewing filth, like he just can’t help himself when Harry’s inside of him.

He arches into Harry’s thrusts, then twists around for a kiss. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated from this angle and Harry wants more of it, pulls out slowly.

“Don’t stop,” Louis whines, reaching back blindly and searching for him.

Harry grabs his hips and rolls him over, surprised when Louis just lets him, flopping onto his back like a rag doll. He makes an annoyed sound when the sun hits his eyes, squeezing them shut and covering them with his arm for good measure.

Harry gets rid of the blanket knotted between them and then -- just stares. Louis naked and hard and gorgeous is quite the sight to behold. Sunlight glints off his skin, deep shadows accentuate this collarbones, the bronze in his tone captivating.

Harry runs a hand from Louis’ chest, over his hipbones and down one leg. “You don’t have any tan lines,” he says, intrigued.

Louis just grumbles something, that fact clearly not as important to him as it is to Harry. “Why’d you stop?”

It takes Harry a moment but he grins, pushes Louis’ knees apart to settle between them. Louis’ legs fall open easily, just like his mouth does when Harry pushes back into him slowly. He leans down to catch the moans escaping Louis’ lips, wants those sounds inside him like he’s inside of Louis.

Louis arches, contracting around Harry who gasps, so close now. “You’re -- you’re amazing.”

Louis arm has slid off his face, eyes still closed, every one of Harry’s moves echoed on his expressive face; his jaw goes lax when Harry pushes in, a slight scrunch forming around his eyebrows when Harry angles it just right. Harry pulls back, hand grabbing around Louis’ leg to hike it up higher. It earns him a bitten lip. Pushing back in, he leans down and licks over it, pleased when Louis’ mouth falls open too, eager for Harry’s tongue.

He angles his hips after that, aiming for that little frown each time. Louis gasps, his eyes opening, slow like drifting continents. The sun hits his eyes and Harry watches his pupils contract, leaving him with more of that blue, blue gaze. It’s not icy, like he’s thought when they first met; it’s deep and endless like the ocean, with secrets hidden away.

Staring down at Louis now, at the slow blink, taking in his little pants and the way he can’t help but arch into Harry and dig his nails into Harry’s skin -- right then, Harry understands. He wants to know Louis’ secrets, wants to dive down to the sunken ships of his memory, leave his own traces there. Because Harry knows, surely, unequivocally, that they’re meant for each other, knows he will do anything to fight for them, for Louis, because nothing, nothing has ever felt so real, so important.

Louis watches him right back, sleep-soft and almost passive, the observant spark in his eyes dimmed but not gone. He’s not doing this for Harry, not for some misinformed opinion or because he assumes it’s what Harry wants. No, he’s doing this because he wants to, revels in his laziness and in Harry taking care of him, just like Harry did last night when he was blown away by the sheer force of Louis’ unbridled energy, his personality.

Harry wants to cry, or tell Louis he’s in love with him already, because he is, will be, whatever, nothing matters when he looks down at his… his Louis, watches his eyes slip shut as he comes with Harry’s name on his lips. And maybe it’s the way Louis clenches around him, the physical fact, or maybe it’s something more, some deeper connection that has Harry following him over that cliff, shuddering as pleasure erupts and spreads to the very edges of his being.

“Harry?” Louis asks softly, minutes later, his fingers carding through Harry’s hair.

He tries to speak but it’s all a bit raw, the realisation, the truth of the moment, his glimpse into the future. He kisses Louis’ neck instead, wonders if the saltiness he tastes is from Louis’ sweat or if he, Harry, maybe cried, just a little.

Louis chuckles softly. “You okay, baby?”

Harry nods, feels a bit silly now as reality trickles back in and he’s aware of where their stomachs are a sticky mess with Louis’ come, where his softening dick is slowly slipping out of Louis. The sun that had been so amazing before feels too hot now, sweat pooling in the small of his back and behind his knees.

He moves then, not much, but enough to slide his lips over Louis’, kiss him slow and deep. He hopes he’s able to pour all the things he can’t quite say into the kiss. Not because he’s afraid of how Louis might take it, but because it’s still new and overwhelming to himself.

“Soon,” he murmurs and Louis’ answering smile is blinding, like he knows exactly what Harry means, like he’s telling him he’d wait a lifetime.

“That’s perfect,” Louis assures him softly before pushing against his shoulders. “Now get up you big oaf, we’re sticky and in need of a shower.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks at him once more, at his sharp features and soft curves, just all round heart achingly pretty. “Yeah okay, let's.”

 

+++

 

Twenty minutes later they both emerge from the shower, ready for the day ahead. It had almost turned into round two, but Louis had put his foot down, told Harry there was no need to rush.

That’s why he’s pulling his trousers over a half hard dick, biting his lip while he zips up. “I guess I might as well get used to it now.”

When Louis gives him a questioning look, he points to his crotch. Louis just roll his eyes. “Don’t be a drama queen,” he says, pulling a very nice, dark shirt over his shoulders and buttoning it up right to the top. He gives himself a thorough once-over in the full-length mirror, including a look over his shoulder at his own bum. Then he steps closer and gives Harry’s dick a gentle pat through the trousers. “It’s not like I’ll be neglecting this, now that I get to have it whenever I want.”

Harry’s eyebrow climbs up. “Whenever you want?”

Louis cocks out his hip, his eyebrow climbing higher yet. “Yes,” he says slowly, like he’s talking to a particularly difficult child. “Whenever I want.”

“Don’t I get a say in it?”

Louis laughs and leans in for a quick kiss. “Of course you do. You can say no whenever you want.” He pats Harry’s dick again, expression turning devious. “Because you’ve got such a good track record with that.”

And okay, he’s got a point there.

Harry wraps him up in his arms and snogs him for a good long minute, the both of them standing there in Louis’ ridiculously expensive apartment, wrapped up in each other and not a care in the world.

“I have to go,” Louis says, a little sadly, when he finally pulls back.

Harry sighs deeply. “This’ll be a pain, won’t it? Me working nights, you working days?”

“And not to mention me flying off to other cities.”

That’s news to Harry. “You fly off to other cities?”

“Yeah,” Louis says with a laugh to his voice. “I have several charities and not all of them are based in London.”

Harry’s mood plummets. “Oh.”

“Hey,” Louis says, pulling on one of Harry’s curls. “None of that now. We’ll just have to organise our schedules.”

And Louis is right. Harry is already feeling down for an eventuality that hasn’t even happened yet. “You’re right,” he says, standing up straight. They should make concrete plans right now, just so he doesn’t have to worry about it. “When are you leaving next?”

Louis’ face does a weird thing, gets all scrunchy and chagrined at once while he slides his fingertips down Harry’s arm. “I’ve got a flight this afternoon.”

Harry looks down at where their toes are almost touching. “When are you coming back?”

“Tuesday evening.”

That makes it the whole weekend, including Harry’s free Monday. “Can I call you? Loads?”

Louis slips his arms around Harry’s middle and with his chin propped on Harry’s chest looks up at him. “You have to. It’s all in the contract you signed.”

Harry wraps his arms around his shoulders. “Oh sorry. Must have missed that. Boyfriend contract, is it?”

“You neglected to read the fine print, didn’t you?” Louis sighs dramatically before rolling onto the tips of his toes and giving Harry a long, deep kiss. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

Harry cuddles closer. “Can’t wait.”

 

+++

 

He spends the day at home and doesn’t do much of anything. There’s several texts to Louis and one to Liam, but apart from that he lounges around, taking not one but two naps out of sheer boredom.

Even with doing nothing all day he gets to work late. Kieran is already on the main stage, still in joggers, doing some easy stretches and warming up. Sophia is wiping down the bar one last time before they open, a habit she’s thankfully passed on to the other bartenders as well.

With Liam having done all the necessary tidbits they need to accomplish when they come in each evening, Harry is temporarily out of work. Well, that’s a lie, there’s always, _always_ paperwork or inventory or -- there’s always work. But apart from that, there’s nothing that requires his immediate attention.

He slips into a chair next to Cameron who is completely focused on Kieran, cheering him on while painting his toenails with one foot propped on the chair, chin on knee.

“Boss-man,” comes his greeting. He doesn’t look away from the stage though, raises his voice instead, “take off your shirt, hot stuff!”

Harry just rolls his eyes and snags the nail polish when Cameron is distracted, trying to pull the shirt off his face where Kieran had just thrown it at him.

He dips the little brush in before dragging it over the nail of his index finger. Hmm, some dark red colour. He quite likes it he decides and proceeds to do the rest of his nails.

“So, any news?”

Cameron snorts. “Apart from you finally getting laid, you mean?”

Harry smirks down at his fingers. “What are you, fucking psychic? I meant any news I don’t yet know about.”

Cameron leans back and finally looks at him. Mostly to scowl. “And why would I tell you? You didn’t even share about Louis.”

Harry looks up. “That’s because it’s none of your business.”

Cameron rolls his eyes. “You keep telling yourself that. And yes, there’s a new review up. I’ll tell you the details if you tell me yours.”

Harry just shakes his head and switches over to the other hand. “I’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Same,” Cameron says, distracted, eyes still glued on his boyfriend. He huffs when a red strand of hair falls into his eyes and pushes it away in annoyance.

Harry sighs. Cameron is right, and he’s also more patient. “I went to his place. He asked me to he his boyfriend. Then we had sex.”

“Hm,” Cameron says. “You’re fucking stunted you know that? Like, emotionally. I can’t believe all you had to do is agree to be his boyfriend to get laid and it took you fucking _weeks_.”

Cameron is his top-earning dancer, Harry reminds himself. Killing him would damage his profit margin.

“Just because you have good experiences with relationships, doesn’t mean we all have.”

That gets Cameron’s attention. He turns in his seat, facing Harry. “You do know that before Kieran I was in the worst relationships ever, right?” Harry did not know that. The two of them always seem so content, it’s actually weird imagining them as anything but. Or apart, for that matter. “I used to choose arseholes because deep down I thought that’s exactly what I deserved. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? A relationship isn’t about your compatibility, at least not only. It’s about the willingness of _both_ sides to work at it.”

“I see your point.”

“Good. Because it’s okay if it took you this long to figure out what you wanted. But now you’ve made your choice. You have to be all in now, okay?”

“Sure,” Harry says, trying really hard not to think of Darren right then.

“Good,” Cameron says and there’s a certain finality to his voice. “‘Cause I like Louis, so don’t fuck it up. If you’re unsure talk to people. Even better, talk to Louis.”

“Okay.”

Cameron nods. “Good.” He gets up and pulls his shirt over his head before hopping onto the stage, already pulling Kieran closer. “And I left it open on your computer. Pretty decent review, pretty decent site.”

‘Pretty decent’ turns out to be fucking amazing and when Harry makes Liam check the hits to their own website it shows the increased traffic coming from that article.

“I should print it.”

Liam laughs, always easy to get a chuckle out of. “And what, frame it?”

“Sure, why not? They called us mysterious _and_ magical.”

“And don’t forget ‘bloody expensive’.”

“Yeah.” Harry pokes Liam’s ribs and gets another grin. “Followed by ‘but well worth it’.”

They end up printing the article and while it doesn’t get framed, Harry tapes it to one of the mirror in the guys’ changing room. No one takes it down.

 

+++

 

“So we’re agreed, your timing sucks?”

Harry plays with the string on his joggers, twirls it around his fingers while he smiles. “What,” he starts, talking into the direction of where he’s got his phone lying on the back of the couch. The speaker distorts Louis’ voice but they’ve been on the phone for nearly two hours now. “Would you rather I’d have taken longer?”

“Oh god no. I know it’s deceiving, but I actually do age. Any longer and I’d have had grey hair.”

Harry snuggles deeper into the couch cushions, curls his body around the phone. “I wasn’t _that_ slow. And it’s hardly my fault that you had a flight. That’s all you.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Curly. If I’d have put my life on hold until you got your act together, I’d be poor right now.”

Harry giggles. “But then you wouldn’t have that stunning apartment of yours. Or your flashy car.”

“I knew you only liked me for my money.”

It’s an off-hand remark, a throw-away sentence at best. But somehow, even over the shitty speakers, Harry notices the barest change in Louis’ voice.

He sits up a bit straighter, pulls the phone closer. “You do know that’s never been a factor, right? I mean you having money.”

“No? Didn’t keep you away or help you decide to finally say yes?”

“No,” Harry says and he tries to pack all the earnesty he’s feeling into the tone of his voice. “Never. I mean my mum mentioned it, but that’s it. I know what it’s like to have no money and what it’s like to have it. Granted, maybe not as much as you do but still, I’m doing alright, you know? I don’t need more. And if it’s all gone one day, I know I can get more. I did it before and I can do it again, you know? I don’t need someone else’s money.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis says with a weak chuckle. “Didn’t mean to set you off there. Just checking, is all.”

Harry bites his lip before he remembers there’s no need to censor himself. “Bad experience?”

There’s rustling from Louis’ end, like he’s getting comfortable on his hotel bed. “Once or twice. I mean I went to a private boarding school, you bet your pretty bum it was all about wealth and connections, even if it wasn’t outright mentioned. You get pretty good at spotting the friends that like you for your money.”

“Yeah? Any boyfriends too?”

“Just one that was a materialistic arsehole. But I found out pretty quickly, when he only came around for the parties. And also Zayn had warned me, not that I’d listened.”

“Yeah? You met him in boarding school, didn’t you? And he turned out not to be a friend just interested in money?”

Louis laughs, the sound pleasantly slow, like his eyes might he drooping a bit from a long day, but that’s not keeping him from being entertained by what Harry just said. Harry hides his smile in a pillow, not caring one bit that Louis is laughing more at him than with him right then. “No love, if anything, he should have been suspicious of me.”

“How’s that?”

“He’s loaded,” Louis says. “Like proper rich.”

And Harry doesn’t even want to know _how_ rich, if even Louis thinks he’s loaded. “Money and looks, anything that boy doesn’t have?”

“Common sense,” Louis says immediately.

They chuckle a bit and fall into a comfortable silence. Usually Harry has the urge to fill it, but with Louis he doesn’t feel that pressure. He wouldn’t mind seeing Louis during these lulls, watch him, observe him, but for now, this is good. Maybe best they get to know each other like this, with several cities between them and no chance of their libido interrupting them.

“Hey, how straight is Niall?”

Harry blinks, wonders if he heard that right. “Pretty straight, why? You interested?”

There’s a bit of silence, then, “look, I wanted to joke about it, but even in my mind it sounded wrong. So no. He was just acting weird when he met Zayn.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve only ever seen him with girls. He mentioned something before, that something happened with a guy once, but as far as I know nothing else ever did. He didn’t go into details, not even sure he was into it.”

“Well, he was being really weird. Like proper blushing, stammering.”

Harry frowns. That’s certainly not how he knows Niall. He shrugs before remembering no one can see him. “I can ask him, if you want?”

“Good god, no! He was uncomfortable enough as it was.”

Harry chuckles some more, twirling the string around his finger again, pulling until he can feel it tighten against his hips. The nail polish from the other night is half chipped off, but he maybe likes it better like that anyway.

“Hey Louis?” he starts before letting his palm drop in his lap. It’s warm and familiar and he isn’t even surprised when his dick begins to stir.

“Hm?”

“What’re your thoughts on phone sex?”

“I think that thought has potential. Not tonight though.”

Harry can feel a pout coming on. “Why not?”

“Because the third time we have sex won’t be over the phone. Want to see you, touch you.”

“Fourth time.”

A beat of silence. “Non-sex doesn’t count. Not even retroactively now.”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m counting the first evening at your place as twice.”

“Oh no, Curly,” Louis says on a yawn. “You’re not getting me into a philosophical discussion on how sexual activity gets counted.”

Harry drags a pillow onto his stomach and hugs it close. “You fucked me twice. Pretty sure that counts as two.”

“It was one sexual encounter. Penetration or orgasms don’t increase the number.”

Sexual encounter, honestly. “Meeting you has been one sexual encounter right from the start. It’s still ongoing.”

There’s another beat of silence and Harry likes that, likes the fact that Louis takes a moment to think about it from Harry’s point of view.

“By that definition, we’re having sex right now.”

And no, he likes _that_ even more, the fact that Louis seems capable of following his logic when people keep telling him over and over his thought process is weird, wrong somehow.

“Aren’t we?”

There’s another yawn over the line. “No, Curly, we aren’t. Trust me, when we have sex, you won’t need to ask. That’s a promise.”

“Okay,” Harry says and it comes out soft, tender. “Yeah, okay.”

There’s more rustling, then a deep sigh, like Louis is finally relaxing all his muscles, letting the stress of the day melt away. “You almost ready for bed?”

Harry peers at the clock, chuckling softly. “It’s eleven. That’s like afternoon for me.”

“Right yes,” Louis says, a yawn distorting his words. “I keep forgetting.”

The smile that steals onto Harry’s face makes him glad he’s alone right then. “That’s ‘cause you’re tired. You should sleep.”

“Mmh. Don’t wanna,” Louis slurs. “Wanna talk to you.”

“We can talk tomorrow. When’s your flight?”

“I’ll land in the late evening. You’ll be at work.”

“I get off at twelve. It’s Liam’s turn to close up. That too late?”

“Yeah, I think so love, sorry. But I’m usually knackered, still got work before the flight, too.”

Harry sighs inwardly. He isn’t happy with it, of course he isn’t, but he can't change it either, would never want to be someone to pressure Louis, to make him feel like he’d have to choose between his job or Harry. Especially with a job like his.

“It’s okay,” he says, glad his voice sounds firm. “I’ll see you on Wednesday then? You can come over to my place when you wake up.”

“I can do that.”

“I’ll leave the key under the doormat.”

“Is that safe?”

Harry laughs while he rolls off the couch and stands up straight, stretching with his hands over his head. “Well, it’s not like I have a concierge service, Mr. High Roller.”

“Fine,” Louis grumbles. “Leave it under the doormat. See if I care when someone steals you during the night.”

Harry snatches up the phone and heads to the kitchen, feeling a bit peckish. “Goodnight, Louis. Sleep well.”

“G’night,” Louis murmurs, voice muffled. “Oh and Harry?”

“Yeah?”

Louis shifts, probably lifting his face out of the pillow, his voice crisp and clear when he says, “no wanking till I’m there, okay?”

Harry stops in his tracks, halfway to the kitchen and looks down at the phone in his hand. It’s not even that long, it’s Monday night and he’ll see Louis on Wednesday. It’s more the fact that Louis just sprang this on him out of nowhere. Well okay, it’s maybe not unfounded, given their past, but it is unexpected. And he had planned on a nice relaxing wank tonight, had actually really been looking forward to it.

“Harry?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, clutching the phone. “Yeah okay. I can do that.”

 

+++

 

Two mornings later, his kitchen is a bit of a mess. He hasn’t quite got that trick of his mum’s down, where she cleans while cooking, but he’s learning. At least the scrambled egg isn’t burnt and he’s humming Bohemian Rhapsody, which is always a plus. He’s already crumbled some feta and washed leaves of spinach, but he wants the mixture to harden before he adds that.

He’s -- well, he’s happy. Louis being in his home for the first time makes him ridiculously happy.

And fuck, he’d missed Louis. Those four days had felt like a lifetime, especially when it had taken him so long to catch on. And then he’d come home last night to Louis almost falling asleep on his doorstep. He’d come over straight from the airport, clothes rumpled and hair messy and they’d clung to each other in the hallway for a long moment, tired but happy.

Nothing happened after that, both exhausted and overwhelmed to the point where all they could do was fall asleep all snuggled up and cozy, still figuring out their limbs. After Harry’s arm had fallen asleep and Louis could barely keep his eyes open, he’d grumbled and pushed Harry onto his side. Louis had snuggled up behind him, one arm over his middle, the other jamming into his back. But Harry hadn’t complained and instead slept better than in the last four nights combined.

Arms slide around his middle from behind, the scent of his moroccan rose body wash blocking out even the buttery smell from the pan. Louis mouths along his shoulder, planting a kiss here and a bite there. “What’re you making?” His voice sounds scratchy but curious, a slight dampness from the shower still clinging to him.

He smiles, turning the egg once more before adding the rest. “Breakfast,” he says, shutting off the stove and placing a lid on the pan. The residual heat will be enough to melt the cheese and steam the spinach. “In about five minutes, all it needs is some lemon and we can eat.”

“Hmm,” Louis says, running his fingers down Harry’s bare tummy, fingertips teasing the edge of his pants. “Five minutes seems awfully rushed.”

Harry barks out a laugh and twists around. He’s about to retort, tease right back when he notices the shirt Louis has decided to wear, courtesy of Harry’s closet. All that comes out instead is, “wha --” because that’s not fair, it can’t be. Louis is wearing his lilac coloured silk shirt and no trousers. It’s already big on Harry, but on Louis it just -- swallows him up, dripping wet hair darkens the fabric where it hangs loose around his neck.

It’s so easy for his hands to land on Louis’ hips and push him against the opposite kitchen island. Louis lets out a tiny _oof_ at the impact and Harry nips at his shoulder, nudging the soft fabric with his nose until the wide neck slips down over the edge, revealing more skin.

“Lost your voice?” Louis laughs, fingers roaming over Harry’s torso. He sounds so normal, not like he’s standing in front of Harry like some part of greek mythology come to life, probably Aphrodite because who’s Harry kidding.

“Look good in lilac.”

Louis looks down his front like the colour, indeed the entire shirt, had completely passed him by. He curls his bare toes against the cool tiles and even though Harry can’t see it he knows he’s smirking. “Yeah?”

“Your legs.”

Louis looks up and his mouth twitches but he keeps the innocently inquiring tone in his voice. “What about them?”

Harry just steps closer, slides one hand up Louis’ thigh to cup his bum, hikes his leg up around his hip and grinds forward. “Up,” he mutters.

Louis hops onto the counter easily and Harry wastes no time stepping between his legs. “You’re tiny,” he tells Louis, who’s now almost eye level with him.

“You’re just a tiny bit less tiny. Now stop yapping and kiss me.”

Harry does, of course he does, winds his arms tightly around Louis, pulling him close and moaning when Louis gets just a little too rough with yanking his hair. He makes up for it by winding his legs around Harry’s hips, anchoring him in place within a sea of lazy arousal and frantic kissing.

“And to think,” Louis rasps, pulling back with a hand on Harry’s chest, keeping him from following. “That you wanted me to wear this in front of our families.”

“My apologies,” Harry murmurs as his lips drag up Louis’ neck, pushing closer and feeling the hand on his chest give. “That would have been a truly bad idea.”

Louis nods like he’s pleased with that response, leans forward to kiss Harry’s nose. “For future reference, I generally know what I’m talking about. It’s my superpower.”

“Okay,” Harry whispers easily, sliding his hands up bare thighs, delighted in how they feel, how the silk feels against the back of his hands. “Okay.” And without looking at Louis he adds, “stop smirking.”

“How do you know I am?” Louis asks in a voice that makes it abundantly clear he is.

“That’s _my_ superpower.”

Louis hums, like he’s considering that without yet having been convinced. He traces Harry’s forearms and asks thoughtfully, “what time do you go to work today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Late. I’m closing up and Liam will be there until midnight.”

“That sounds… promising.”

Harry kisses him. The kiss is bad, both of them smiling too wide for anything better. “Yeah? You wanna stay?”

Louis’ hands slide over his bum, pulling him closer, further between his thighs. “Would need to move some stuff around, but yes. I would like that very much.”

And then they’re kissing for real, the smile sliding right off Harry’s lips when Louis pinches his nipple, lets his hands slip lower to rub the smaller ones too.

“Your extra nipples,” Louis starts, still rubbing them both, “do they feel as good as the normal ones? When I touch them?”

“Not really,” Harry says, looking down at where Louis is now tweaking the little nubs.

His fingers climb higher and he touches Harry’s normal nipples instead, a sharp little twist that has Harry moaning.

“But you do like having your tits played with.” It’s not a question but a statement, yet when Harry doesn't respond he looks up at him. “The word tits not doing it for you?”

Harry shrugs. “Nah, that’s not it. You just spring this stuff out of nowhere.”

“Nowhere?” Louis huffs. “We’re making out on your kitchen counter and that last orgasm happened forever ago. I think this is the only logical thought progression.”

He looks so good on Harry’s kitchen counter, too; his legs dangling easily beside Harry’s body, the copious watery-soft folds of the silk shirt in his lap not hiding the fact that he’s getting hard.

Harry licks his lips. “Let me suck you,” he pleads, his voice low and slightly desperate.

Louis laughs again. “Now who’s dropping stuff out of nowhere?”

“Come on,” Harry says, snaking his hand into Louis’ pants through the leg. “I haven’t yet.”

“Came close to it in the club.”

“No,” Harry states firmly. “That wasn’t anything remotely close to a blowjob. You’ll know when I give you one.”

“Oh,” Louis mocks, pushing down his underwear to give Harry room on his dick. “Are you some blowjob expert, then?”

Harry squeezes his fist around Louis’ cock, watches his eyes slip shut. They snap back open when Harry says, “I have like, no gag reflex.”

Louis’ eyes darken. “Yeah?” he asks while sliding his fingers down the soft skin of Harry’s throat.

Harry nods, not sure how to bring up what he wants to say next. “Yeah so you can like -- you know?”

“Oh I can, can I?”

Harry flushes, concentrates on wanking Louis and not looking at him. “Yeah.”

Louis hikes his legs up higher around Harry’s waist, arching into his touch. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Harry takes a deep breath. This is sex, he likes what he likes and it’s easier to get any awkwardness out of the way quickly. Like removing a bandaid. “Yeah, you know. You can do what you want. Go as fast or, uhm, rough as you want. If it gets too much, I can double-tap out on your leg.”

“Jesus, Curly,” Louis rasps, his head falling forward onto Harry’s shoulder. “You haven’t even blown me yet and we’re already establishing safewords. Safesignals. Whatever.”

Harry nuzzles into his collar bone, licks the sharp line of it right up to Louis’ shoulder. “Can I?”

Louis swallows hard, his gaze dropping to Harry’s lips. “Yeah. Yeah -- I mean. Yes. If you’d like.”

Oddly relieved, Harry walks back, his eyes trailing over Louis still sitting on the counter, cock out and lilac shirt making him look positively indecent. He nudges up against the kitchen counter nearest the wall and sinks to his knees.

Louis watches him avidly, small hand wrapping around his cock like he doesn’t even recognise he’s doing it, too focused on Harry. And it’s electrifying to have Louis’ eyes on him again, have not only his attention but Louis’ entire focus solely on himself, similar to their encounter in the club.

He settles his bum on his heels, winces only slightly when he sits up straight and his naked back slides against the counter, cold and unforgiving. He places his hands in his lap, not touching the bulge in his pants.

If Louis thinks this will be a normal blowjob, he’s got another thing coming.

“I’m ready,” he murmurs, casting his eyes down because he operates by the saying ‘if something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right’.

Louis lets out a nervous chuckle which is weird, because there certainly hadn’t been any nervousness in the club the other night. Quite the opposite, really. Harry chalks it up to them being in a relationship now. That always makes sex more real and if Louis needs a second to get used to that, Harry can definitely understand.

His eyes follow him, transfixed, as Louis’ nudges open the buttons on his shirt, falling open along his lean frame, one side still off the shoulder. After another quick glance at Harry he steps out of his underwear and then moves towards him until his feet are planted on either side of Harry’s legs.

When he doesn’t bring his cock any closer, Harry leans forward, licking a long stripe up the underside. One step at a time, he reminds himself, pushing the foreskin back with tongue and lips, rubbing underneath the head. Louis makes a lovely little _ah_ sound above him, taking that last stumbling step forward and catching himself with both hands on the counter, either side of Harry’s head.

He kisses Louis’ hips and tummy, looks up the line of his body to see him staring down intently. He’s got Harry boxed in nicely, perfectly, but Harry -- well he wants the whole experience now. It makes him greedy, maybe, puts a lot of pressure on Louis and still Harry can’t quite bring himself to care, not after what he’d seen in the club, and during their first night.

It takes Louis a moment to catch up, to encircle the base of his cock and slide it over Harry’s lips. “Open up,” he says and it’s almost a question, making Harry hasten to comply, lean his head back against the door of the cabinet. He moans when Louis pushes forward, digs his nails into his own thighs.

And then he just relaxes; his jaw, his breathing, his entire self. He traces Louis’ cock slowly, feels every ridge at the tip, the smooth skin under his lips as he pushes down. He revels in it, wants more, needs more, can take it. But Louis isn’t pushing in all that far, only hitting the back of his throat once before reverting back to shallow thrusts. Harry lets him, enjoys that. The way Louis is hunched over him, staring at his lips through half-closed eyes is almost lazy, like he could do this for hours.

Harry moans at that, feels a phantom ache in his jaw at the mere idea, thighs shivering under his hands when a tremor wrecks his body.

Louis’ hand slips on the counter, catching in some of Harry’s hair and the sharp pull has him straightening his back, has Louis roll onto his toes to follow his mouth. Harry keeps his jaw relaxed for his thrusts, but can’t help himself, reaches out and wraps his hands around Louis’ heels, and holy fuck, Louis is on his tiptoes for this, before sliding them slowly up his tensed calves. He can feel the movement of Louis’ body when he reaches the back of his thighs, can’t really stop himself from pulling Louis closer when he pushes in.

“You sure?” Louis asks as he rolls back onto his feet, stepping closer instead.

Harry nods, looks up at him and hopes to convey that yes, he’d really, really like Louis to fuck his throat.

It doesn’t quite happen like that, though Louis’ thrusts start becoming deeper and he curses when he eventually slips in all the way. But he’s also controlled, like he’s still unsure, doesn’t quite want to let himself go yet.

Once Harry accepts that this isn’t going to happen the first time he blows Louis, he relaxes, puts aside his expectations and concentrates on the blowjob itself. Louis not letting up on his control has the added effect of this dragging out and Harry can feel a real ache in his jaw now, can watch the slow simmer of arousal on Louis’ face gradually increase, spiking when he nudges in all the way, when Harry’s nose is buried against his skin.

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” Louis chokes out. Harry looks up, at how he’s curved over above him, looking down with his mouth hanging open and pleasure clear on his face. Louis drags his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone, presses it into the hollow beneath. He traces Harry’s lips, thumbs along where he’s stretched wide. “Got such a pretty mouth. Just perfect for sucking cock.”

Harry wants to agree, wants to tell him how much he loves it, but instead he pushes forward until Louis slips all the way into his throat, his nose pressed into Louis’ skin as he bucks forward once before getting his hips back under control.

Louis smoothes out his thrusts, going deeper now but with a slow rhythm. It gives Harry time to focus on his own excitement, on the heaviness between his legs, on the urge of wanting to touch himself and the satisfaction of not doing so. He trails his fingers up and down Louis’ legs instead, maps every curve and caresses every dip, fingers sliding along the crease where bum meets leg, further up to get in a proper grope.

Harry likes guys that talk during sex, loved it every time Louis did it so far. Hell, he’d wanked countless times to the memory of the dance alone. But Louis isn’t talking now, just biting his lip and concentrating on pushing his cock in and out of Harry’s mouth. It’s -- it’s almost meditative, unrushed, and Harry enjoys every second of it even though he can’t help himself from tightening his throat when Louis pushes deep, from humming and letting him feel the vibrations. It makes Louis buck forward, spill out disjointed words, bitten off before they’re all the way formed.

It’s nothing like Harry wanted initially, no rush, no lust driven actions. It’s slow, controlled and perfect, forcing him to notice everything. He loves every second of it.

Louis comes without announcement, even though Harry recognises the flex in his arse cheeks, the increased speed. He tenses his lips and relaxes his jaw, lets Louis slip in all the way and come down his throat, all the while willing the little flares of a gag reflex down.

Louis crumples into his lap, heaving in deep breaths as he pats Harry’s shoulder mindlessly. He wraps Louis up in his arms, one low on his back to prevent him from sliding off, the other one higher up to stop his sideways tilt. His lips ache and his throat feels raw, but he still kisses the side of Louis’ face, murmurs, “that was amazing, never felt anything like that before, thank you, thank you,” into his skin.

Louis is a boneless puddle in his arms, his leg muscles still twitching from time to time and when he finally speaks, it’s, “well, fuck,” and Harry chuckles into the side of his neck, pressing his nose into the soft skin there.

Louis’ hand trails down his stomach, fiddling with his pants. Harry wraps a hand around his wrist and pulls him off. “No,” he says softly, shaking his head.

“You don’t want to come?” Louis’ face registers surprise, maybe even some sort of suspicion.

“No I do,” Harry says on a laugh, bringing Louis’ hand up to his lips and mouthing along his knuckles. “Just -- not right now.” And it’s not even about denying himself, or working up to a bigger orgasm through waiting. That’s not it at all and Louis’ now slightly hurt look prompts him into an explanation he doesn’t quite have the words for. “That was -- I don’t know. It was something new for me. It was calming, meditative,” there’s that word again, but he just can’t think of anything better. “And right now I’m feeling utterly content. Like... settled in myself. If I come now, that feeling will be replaced with the after-orgasm feeling and I’m just not quite ready to give this up.”

“Hmm,” Louis says while perching more comfortably on Harry’s thighs. “Okay.” He drags the back of his index finger along the prominent bulge in Harry’s pants. A shiver of anticipation shoots up his spine. Maybe he doesn’t want to wait after all. “But you’re gonna tell me when you do?”

Harry kisses him, long and slow. “You’ll be the first to know.”

He’s already set the table for their breakfast but somehow ends up stood between Louis’ legs. He’s sitting on the counter again, heels rapping on the wooden doors from swinging his legs and opening his mouth when Harry feeds him another lukewarm piece of breakfast with his hand.

It should probably be gross, the feta not completely melted and rolling onto the floor more often than not. A big piece of limp spinach lands on Louis’ bare thigh and he complains about it for ten minutes, even after Harry picks it up with his mouth alone and licks the area clean.

Only it isn’t gross, not at all, because Louis wraps his lips around Harry’s fingers on every bite and twinkles at him with so much mirth that Harry wouldn’t think about stopping for a second.

He can always clean up later. This moment though, that’s precious to him and he won’t be distracted by a few errant crumbs.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis’ sleeping schedule is shot all to shit.

That’s why he’s just finishing breakfast, it’s after noon and he’s in his bed because Harry had insisted.

“You’re a bad influence.”

“That sentence would hold so much more weight if I’d actually found a single piece of fruit in your fridge.”

Louis shrugs. “Fruit spoils and I don’t have the time to clean everything out each time I fly out.”

Harry takes his empty plate and leans over him to place it on the nightstand. Louis bites his shoulder, mainly because it’s _right there_.

“Hey,” Harry says, all deep and offended. “Kiss it better.”

And Louis does, presses his lips to Harry’s skin. He smells nice, feels nice, warm and comfortable and soft.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Harry flops down over his lap, so much dead weight, and groans. “Working. Liam is visiting friends and Niall would kill me if I asked him to cover again.”

Louis falls silent, idly stroking along Harry’s skin. He’d offer to help in whatever capacity, but he’s not sure how that would go over. “No one else that knows how to do it?”

“Ah, the curse of the small business owner.”

“As long as you’re fine handling it.”

Harry rolls onto his back and smiles up at him. “Quite experienced with it actually. Have been doing it for several years now you know.”

He’s saved by his phone ringing, Fizzy’s name flashing on the screen. “Fizz,” he says once the call connects.

“Yo,” comes her completely unironic reply. Louis rolls his eyes. “Can I borrow your car? The small fast one ‘cause mum asked me to drive out to the estate, something about a delivery? I don’t know. I’m taking some friends and staying the weekend.”

“You can,” he says, gently stroking Harry’s hair.

“Thank you,” she sing songs. “I’ll take you out for tea if you want?”

Harry, who had closed his eyes under his touch gently pries them open, blinking up at him all slow and lazy and completely indecently. “Can’t,” Louis says distractedly, tracing the upper curve of Harry’s lip. “Harry is over.”

Harry stiffens at that, seemingly every muscle in his body going rigid. The response is so sudden and unexpected that Louis completely misses what Fizzy says next. Instead he watches Harry sit up, the line of his shoulder tense as he looks for his discarded clothes, yanking them on hastily.

Okay then.

“Louis?”

“Yeah. Sorry. What?”

“I said maybe some other time then. Jeez, you’re weird today.”

“Look Fizz, I’m busy, but I’ll leave the key at the concierge desk downstairs,” he tells her while eyeing Harry, who is moving around the room, collecting his phone and keys. “I gotta go now.”

“Fine,” she says. “But thanks again!”

They hang up and Louis just about manages to place his phone back on the nightstand by the time Harry walks towards the stairs, “what the fuck is your problem?”

Harry doesn’t stop until he’s downstairs, stomping across Louis’ apartment. “Nothing,” he says through clenched teeth, not even stopping. “You shouldn’t have told her I’m here.”

Louis follows him, stomping just as angrily, his bare feet making soft slapping sounds on the tiled floor. “Why the fuck not?”

Harry twirls around at that, so sudden that Louis has to halt abruptly or crash right into him. “Because!”

“Well, that’s a mature response.”

Harry spins around again, grabs something off the couch before turning back to Louis. “I just don’t think we should tell people yet.”

Louis just stares at him, mouth hanging open. “Why the fuck not?”

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it again, turning away from Louis and grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter. “I can’t believe you just told her.”

“I can’t believe this,” Louis says. He’s angry. No, livid. “You can’t honestly think to blame this on _me_!”

Harry just glares before grabbing his jacket. “You know what? Fine!” He pulls the jacket on angrily, flailing one arm when it gets stuck. “I’m leaving.”

At that something boils over inside Louis, that last little part inside of him that has been yelling at him for the past five minutes, trying to get them to just calm down and talk about it. Instead he storms past Harry to the lift. “You’re not leaving,” he says angrily while repeatedly pressing the button when the doors don't slide open fast enough. “Because I am kicking you out.”

It doesn't even hurt when Harry leaves, the soft _ding_ from the lift marking his exit, but it would feel damn good if Louis had a door to slam behind him.

After that, it takes him an hour to calm down, another one to even try and see this from Harry’s point of view.

By the time he’s found his phone, intent on ringing Harry, he’s already calling him.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says by way of greeting. “I overreacted.”

“Oh,” comes Harry’s quiet tone. “Niall made me call you. Said to apologise and explain myself.”

“Niall is one clever bugger.” Harry chuckles, a low, damp sound like he’d maybe been crying. Now Louis feels like an absolute heel. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t take the time to understand.”

“Well, I didn’t explain. I just -- I just wish we’d have talked about it first.”

Louis is shaking his head, still clutching the phone to his ear. “We can -- we _will_. I just. I mean, you’re really good at this whole being together thing. I keep forgetting you actually have some relationship hang ups.”

“I’m trying,” Harry tells him in a voice so fragile Louis almost drives over to wherever he is right now.

“I know you are, babe, I do. I don’t want to be pushy. We don’t have to tell them yet if you don’t want to. Fizzy didn’t even catch on.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Definitely. You want to come over? We can talk some more.”

“Can’t,” Harry says, sounding truly mournful now. “Work.”

“Right, right, I forgot.” He tries to remember his calendar for the week. “I’m busy throughout the day tomorrow, but I could come by in the afternoon? If you want.”

“I do want that.” Harry’s voice is almost a whisper and Louis has to strain to hear him.

“Done deal then. Will you be okay until then?”

Harry chuckles, sounding more like himself now. “Yeah.”

There’s a long pause before Louis finally says, “so. Our first fight.”

“Weathered that storm.”

It’s Louis’ turn to chuckle at that. “Maybe next time we can go straight into the talking about it, leave out the angry storming off and the hours in between to cool down.”

“Yeah,” Harry says and if Louis isn’t completely mistaken, he can hear the smile in his voice again. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

  


+++

  


“It’s just going to be a tiny party. Practically just the family.”

Louis can hardly make out his mum’s words over the phone. “Where are you, woman? Have you set up camp in a tunnel?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. We’re out at the estate, you know how bad the reception is here.”

“I do know,” he mumbles and wedges the phone between shoulder and cheek, while patting himself down for the key. “Didn’t Fizzy just drive out there?”

“Yes, but she had to go back to London. We decided to come and now we’d like to host a little party.”

He could just press the buzzer, but Harry might be napping, getting his sleep in where he can. Louis hasn’t seen him in several days, since their first fight, due to an emergency meeting in Manchester he had to fly out for. And while they talked on the phone it’s just not the same. Conflicting schedules suck.

He finds his key and unlocks the door when his mum interrupts his thoughts, “can you give Fizzy a lift, darling? Her car’s in the shop and we both know she can’t drive the Rover.”

“She still has my car,” Louis huffs as he stems his way inside, managing to hook the wheel of his luggage in the door jam in such a way it takes him several tries and a lot of swearing to finally yank it free. He collapses against the door, pushing it shut with his back.

And then Harry is there, slightly disheveled like he just woke up, looking confused and hopeful and entirely edible all at once. He’s wearing loose fitting joggers that hang low on his hips, his chest bare and hair up in a messy bun, red pillow creases down the left side of his face.

“Louis?”

He jumps when his mum talks, had forgotten her completely. “Yes, mum,” he says as he watches Harry hurry over and press them together in a tight hug. He hopes Harry got the part where Louis is talking to his mum, because he’s too busy inhaling Harry’s scent, pressing his nose into his neck and feeling the remnants of warmth from his nap. “I’ll bring Fizzy. We’ll be there. Two o’clock?”

Harry makes an enquiring noise against his skin but Louis just shakes his head and draws him in for a kiss.

“Oh,” he hears his mum in his ear. It’s her I’m-sorry-you-won’t-like-this-but-it’ll-happen-anyway voice. “And Anne asked if you could also give Harry a lift?”

“Harry?” The use of his name prompts another enquiring noise out of him. Louis shakes his head and holds a finger to his lips. Harry nips at it before pushing him back against the door, his big hands travelling to the front of Louis’ trousers, unfastening the button and zipper.

“I know you don’t like him much,” his mum says while Harry starts pushing his trousers down. “But do try to make an effort. We’ll see a lot of them, can’t you just get along?”

He runs his free hand through Harry’s hair, pulling at the hair tie until it comes loose. “I dunno,” he mumbles when Harry makes him step out of his trousers and underwear at the same time. “Harry is weird.”

“He’s a lovely boy,” his mum says with vehemence. Done with his task, Harry crowds in close, pressing Louis further back. He tries to ignore the weird feeling of his bare bum against the wood of the door. “And you won’t have to entertain him, I’ve actually invited someone for you.”

“You’re setting me up on a blind date?” he asks out loud mainly for the benefit of seeing Harry’s reaction.

Brows furrowing, Harry shakes his head and leans in to growl something into Louis’ neck. He can’t make it out, grips Harry’s hair hard just to remind him to behave.

“Yes darling, he’s a doctor, can you believe it? Just came home from one year of doctors without borders, isn’t that lovely?”

Louis grabs Harry’s hand as it inches towards his cock. He’s not going to listen to his mum while his boyfriend gives him a handjob, he’s got standards. “Let me get this straight,” he says while tightening his grip on Harry’s still moving hand. “You’re setting me up on a blind date with a guy who probably hasn’t had sex in a year. You’re whoring me out, mother.”

His mum just sighs but Harry’s frown deepens and he redoubles his efforts to get his fingers around Louis’ cock. “Do you have to be so crude, darling?”

“Do you have to meddle in my romantic life?”

“If I don't, who will?” It’s an old argument of theirs and Louis has long since accepted that his mum isn’t the type of person to give up on that.

Harry finally manages to get to his prize and Louis almost moans into the phone. He tries to squirm away but Harry’s got a good grip now and Louis can’t keep both of his hands at bay while still clutching the phone.

“I have to go,” he grits out, hitting disconnect and checking he actually hung up twice. He flips the mute button because that was just rude enough for his mum to ring up a storm and he can’t deal with that right now. He scowls at Harry. “You made me be rude to my mum.”

Harry still looks irritated, his palm rough and dry as he brings Louis to full hardness. “Your mum is setting you up on a date. _That_ ’s rude.”

Louis squirms, starts haphazardly divesting Harry of his joggers by pushing them with hands and feet alike. “She doesn’t know.”

“You don’t need a date. You have me.” Harry pushes him back against the wall and kisses him thoroughly. Louis lets himself go pliant, lets Harry push his knee between his thighs even if he has to move onto his toes when Harry presses up.

“She doesn’t know that, either.”

He trails his hands over Harry’s nipples and Harry makes a growling sound, snatches up his hands and pins them above his head.

They stare at each other for a long moment, like they aren’t quite sure, silently asking the other if this is working. Louis flexes his wrists, feels Harry’s tight grip and _moans_. Fuck, this is definitely working for him.

“What?” he says, his tone already mocking. Okay so he’s never been very good at being submissive, not in the way Harry gets, not when he’s wide awake and slightly annoyed. “Gonna fuck me up against the wall because you’re jealous?”

“Thinking about it.”

“You’d drop me.”

Harry scowls, lets go of Louis’ hands in order to hike his thighs around his hips, pressing him hard against the door, one large hand under Louis’ bum. The fingers of his free hand roam over Louis’ body and he arches into it experimentally, happy to see Harry’s focus actually seems to narrow on the important bits, like not letting him drop.

“I’d never,” Harry promises quietly. “Too precious.”

Louis doesn’t know what exactly Harry is calling precious, and he doesn’t want to concentrate on that right now. There’s no need for ego stroking if he can just lean back and admire Harry in this mood, see where he goes with it.

What he does is set Louis down gently, only to spin him around, wasting no time to open him up with lube he must’ve brought along from the bedroom. They’ve got the stuff stashed around the house everywhere, but neither had thought about the entrance area.

As he presses his hot cheek against the door and Harry spreads his fingers, Louis definitely thinks they should put the front entrance on the list of regular spots to fuck.

Harry spins him around again and stays crouched, big hand on his big cock while he drinks Louis in. His joggers are still in place, just pushed past his dick and the sight gets Louis so hot he has to actively control himself, bite back the words already forming on his tongue to tell him to hurry up.

“Tell me you have a rubber.”

Harry nods, tugs one out and opens it clumsily.

“Slow,” Louis tells him.

Harry does, making a show of it like always, holding the tip of the condom in one hand while slowly, ever so slowly rolling it down his straining cock.

As much as Louis enjoys the visual, he makes a mental note for them to get tested soon. He usually likes his boyfriends to wear a rubber when they fuck him, mainly because he can’t be arsed with dealing with the aftermath. There’s something to be said for Harry fucking him bare, for feeling him come inside that has infinite appeal right now.

Harry gets up in one fluid movement, picking him up by the thighs and settling Louis down around his hips carefully. After only a bit of fiddling he feels Harry’s cock nudge against his hole, feels the familiar stretch. There’s always a moment when Harry sinks into him that he’s convinced it won’t fit, the ache almost too much.

He gasps his way through it, clutching Harry’s shoulders and digging his nails into his skin. Harry is always gentle, careful to a fault and gives him time to adjust, kissing him long and soothing while Louis breathes in deep.

Not today, it seems.

He just keeps pushing, slow but constant, until Louis is settled completely against him, feeling stretched wider than ever and so very full. He wants to tell Harry, usually loves to watch his reactions to a bit of dirty talk. But all that comes out when he opens his mouth is a moan he has no desire to cut off.

“You wouldn’t like the other guy anyway,” Harry whispers fiercely as he pulls back and fucks forward fast. “You love this way too much.”

“What, want me to tell you how good your cock is?”

Harry shakes his head while settling on a jarring rhythm. “Not just my cock. Though you are the biggest size-queen I’ve ever met and don’t you fucking deny it. No, you love our entire sex life, get off on our dynamics.”

“Like you don’t,” Louis chokes out, trying not to whimper at how good this feels, at least not while Harry’s talking.

“Of course I do.”

“So what you’re telling me,” Louis chokes out, looking for a spot on Harry’s neck to bite. “Is that we’re sexually compatible?”

Harry growls, actually growls, rutting into him so hard Louis completely forgets what they’re talking about until Harry speaks again. “What I’m saying is that I don’t want you on a date with anyone but me.”

“That’s fine,” Louis pants. “We can tell them.”

Harry falls silent after that, biting his lip as he drives into Louis again and again. Louis shuts his mind off, enjoys the drag of Harry’s cock, and yes, the sheer fucking size of it.

He isn’t going to last, especially not when Harry wraps his hand around him. It’s not really any different from when he usually wanks him, yet something in his movements spells out possession, like he’s claiming Louis’ body, his mind and all the rest of him, too.

Louis throws his head back, arms around Harry’s neck, big hand on his cock, big cock in his arse. It’s like he’s baring himself, wants Harry to know that yes, of course he’s all his, every part of him, that’s the deal.

That realisation races through him, fire in his veins. He clutches Harry’s hair, pulls him back from where he was sucking on Louis’ neck. Heat spreads everywhere when their gazes connect, when Louis sees the same thoughts mirrored on Harry’s face.

“You can have it,” Louis tells him, voice almost inaudible yet firm. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Harry stares at him, mesmerising, cock driving deep and sure. Without losing his rhythm he lets go of Louis’ cock and turns his hand around, splays his fingers low over Louis’ belly.

“Want you.”

Louis smiles, because this is easy, never has it been easier to speak the truth than right now. “You’ve got me.”

Harry shudders and comes and Louis feels him press down with his hand against his lower abdomen. Louis already feels so fucking full of Harry’s cock but whatever Harry is doing makes it about ten times worse, like he’s pressing Louis’ prostate against the twitching cock buried deep inside, from the outside.

Louis’ climax hits, suddenly and loudly, come going everywhere while his untouched cock pulses between them.

Harry holds him up long enough for the shudders to subside but then they both slide to the floor slowly in a tangle of limbs.

“Well,” Louis gasps as the aftershocks still roll through him, Harry’s panting breath hot against his skin. “That was new.”

Harry just chuckles. “Missed you,” he tells him before catching his mouth in a kiss.

  


+++

  


They pull up to Fizzy’s place already a good half hour late. Louis would love to blame it on Harry somehow but really, it’s his own fault. He’d just been running late again.

He also knows his little sister, knows exactly which genes they share, so he isn’t surprised at all when it takes her another ten minutes before she finally climbs into the back seat.

“Yo,” she says as she pulls the door shut behind her, her bags all shoved willy-nilly across the other seat. “And hi, Harry! I thought we were picking you up?”

And Harry gets fidgety right away, projecting with every cell of his body ‘I’m trying really hard to lie, can you tell?’.

Louis rolls his eyes and speaks up while merging back onto the main road, “I had an errand to run and it was just a few streets from his place. Plus I knew you’d never be ready.”

“Hey,” she says with an indignity Louis can see right through. “I wasn’t that late.”

“Well, you weren’t on time, that’s for damn sure.”

She glares at him through the rear-view mirror, arms crossed in front of her. “Look who's talking, Mr. Scheduled Appointments Are For Other People.”

He doesn’t reply, not up for a circular argument today. He just wants to find his way out of this maze of smaller streets and merge onto the highway.

The silence must bother Fizzy because she leans forward in her seat until she can see Harry’s profile. “So Harry, was my brother very rude on the drive over?”

“Oh uhm no. No, he wasn’t.”

“We’ll just count that as a miracle then.” She checks her phone, giving them a minute of peace. Unfortunately it doesn’t last. “What is it that you do again?”

Louis opens his mouth to interrupt but Harry is faster, gives her some practiced spiel.

And that’s how it continues almost the entire drive; Fizzy asking uncomfortable questions about Harry’s life and Harry answering them. Or not answering them, skirting the issue in such a way that Louis feels weirdly proud. And Harry is a shitty liar but it seems like he’s found a way around it by being upfront about evading certain questions. Instead he’ll tease Fizzy, tell her she’s much too young for the real answer.

Turns out, they get along like a house on fire.

“You can not honestly believe that,” Harry says, turned in his seat to look at her. “Black and white movies aren’t boring!”

“Maybe not for your grandpa arse,” Fizzy huffs. “But trust me, I can, will and have said it.”

“But they’re classics. They’re good.”

“So are the newer ones. You know, with colour.”

Harry faces forward again shaking his head. “Your sister sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” Louis says and gives Harry a quick grin before checking his rearview mirror. “I’ve tried to tell people but she looks too innocent.”

“You’re just jealous because everyone knows you’re a twat,” she says.

“I am loveable, aren’t I, Harry?”

He regrets directing the question Harry’s way almost immediately because he gets this besotted look on his face an murmurs, “yeah.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Honestly, if Harry wants to keep this quiet for now, he better get himself together. Fizzy might cover it with flighty comments and general absentmindedness, but she’s actually perceptive as hell.

“So,” Louis says, clearing his throat. “How’s Ben?”

Her face immediately changes, the scowl clear even in the tiny mirror. “Ancient history. I think I’ll go back to dating girls.”

He rolls his eyes. “You do that.”

“Think i will.”

“Just remember, you'll never be the Gay Child of the family. I beat you to that.”

“You suck.” She crosses her arms, pretending like she’s actually rankled. “And I totally could. Mum still hasn't forgiven you for not dating Harry, I can probably make her disown you.”

The car turns noticeably silent after that, Harry looking hard at the passing scenery, like he’s so lost in his contemplations that he completely missed Fizzy’s comment.

Louis decides to ignore it too. “Mum wants grandkids and soon. I’m far too busy, Lottie won’t, so you’re next.”

She glares at him through the mirror. “You _really_ suck.”

He sticks out his tongue, merging over to the left lane for the upcoming turn off.

Harry has started singing along to every second song playing on the radio, his voice soft and private, like he’s again cutting himself off from the conversation.

“Hey, Harry,” she asks during a lull. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Harry almost flinches. “Not uhm. Not right now, no.”

“I’m just asking, ‘cause I have this friend and -”

“I thought you and mum were all hell bent on setting us up,” he interrupts her. Harry is just nice enough to let her set him up on a date, and that’s so not happening.

“Yes and then we stopped because you wouldn’t hear us out. I remember the words ‘never in this lifetime’ being said.”

He did say that, shit. But that was right at the beginning, when he’d actually felt a bit of resentment towards Harry for almost ruining Lottie’s wedding.

Harry has clamped his mouth shut tight, staring at the windscreen like it holds the answer to life’s questions.

The moment Fizzy is distracted by a text, he reaches over and presses his knuckles into Harry’s thigh, digging his thumb in just to be extra clear. Harry looks up in surprise and Louis mouths ‘sorry’ before pulling his hand back. But he can still make out the small smile playing at the corners of Harry’s lips, so he guesses they’re okay.

They arrive one hour and two pee breaks later, Louis steering them up the long driveway at a crawl. Not because his mum always tells him the pebbles damage the paint job when he drives too fast, no. It’s so he can steal glances at Harry, who has become very animated, indeed.

“This is _one_ house?” he asks under his breath, mouth hanging open in shock.

Louis pulls up by the front door, Fizzy jumping out before he’s even proper stopped. Harry leans over him slightly, taking in the main house with the vines all along its front, every window on all three floors open to air it out for the guests which are supposed to arrive tomorrow.

“It’s an estate,” Louis says, trying not to smile too widely at Harry’s wonder. “We even have horses.”

Harry perks up immediately, dimples so deep Louis wants to poke at them. “Horses? Can we go see them?”

There’s so much to say here, so much to do. And all Louis manages is to stare and whisper, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

It’s a bit unexpected when Harry actually _blushes_. It’s cute and thankfully dispels the mood since Louis isn’t sure he could have done it himself. Instead he laughs, wriggles out of his seatbelt and pokes Harry’s side. “Since when do you blush?”

Harry’s mouth stretches in a soft smile, a slight redness still high on his cheeks. “That was just... Nice. And unexpected. You caught me off guard.”

“I should do that more often then.”

Harry just sticks out his tongue. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s see this doctor of yours. I’m thinking of flirting with him. Just so he doesn’t snag you, of course.”

Louis can see Fizzy out of the corner of his eye, standing in the entranceway and motioning for them to get a move on. She’d probably been sent by his mum, so he can’t touch Harry, can’t flick his ear the way he’d like, just for being a nuisance.

“You can try,” he says softly instead. “But you know how I am. I’ll just get competitive and the poor guy won’t know what hit him.”

“I think I can take you.”

Louis throws his head back and laughs, still laughing while he climbs out the car. Door in one hand, the other on the roof, he leans back in. “You _wish,_ Styles.”

As it turns out, the good doctor had some kind of emergency and therefore couldn’t make it. Louis tells his mum it’s a sign, because he didn’t want her to set him up anyway.

Harry, the little shit, just stands there and nods along with his mum when she tells him she’s just worried he’ll never find someone.

“I’m gonna make you pay for that,” Louis tells him quietly when he shows Harry his room, Fizzy following not far behind.

Harry moans, quietly but obscenely and whispers, “fuck, I’m looking forward to it.”

Before he can reply, Fizzy is next to him. “I’m going to the stables, who’s with me?”

“Oh, me please,” Harry says, leaving his bag besides the bed. He turns to Louis. “You coming too?”

“Nope,” Louis says and if he sounds standoffish then that’s fine, especially when it furrows Harry’s brow ever so slightly. Really, he just wants to have a cup of tea with his mum and catch up in peace. Bring in the stuff in the boot of his car, the things Harry doesn’t know about. “I’ll see you at dinner. Fizz, please make sure he doesn’t fall into a ditch somewhere and dies, I don’t have time for the paperwork.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbles before grabbing Harry’s unresisting hand and dragging him along. “Come on then. I’ll show you Patches first, ‘cause he’s mine.”

  


+++

  


Since his doctor date couldn’t make it, his mum had decided to invite Zayn as a replacement.

“And Niall, too. Your mum told me you’re good friends,” she tells Harry, who nods, stunned. “Didn’t want you to feel left out, love. Especially with your mum only coming for the party tomorrow.”

“Your mum is really nice,” Harry says quietly once they’re alone in the library, under the pretense of looking for something to read.

“She is. And she really likes you, so she’s just making sure you’re feeling comfortable.” Louis leads them towards the back, hidden away from the doors and prying eyes. “Come on, I’ll show you my favourite place inside the house.” In the far corner, behind several ornate bookshelves and bathed in the natural light streaming in through the stained glass, there’s a wide windowsill covered in pillows.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry breathes. While he’s still taking it all in, including the view of the garden below, Louis climbs up and gets comfortable.

“Come on,” he says, patting the pillow beside him. “I want cuddles.”

It doesn’t take Harry long to squeeze in beside him, wrapping Louis up in his arms as they both shift until they’re comfortable. “D’you think it’ll be weird tomorrow?”

Louis tries not to sigh audibly, but some of it still makes it into his tone of voice. “Probably. I don’t like lying to my family.”

They’re silent for a long while. “I’m sorry,” Harry tells him in a low voice. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to tell them yet.”

No, he’s made that pretty clear, hasn’t he? “When will it be the _right_ time, though? Will it ever come?”

He’d have liked Harry to answer promptly and in a decisive manner. Instead it takes him almost a minute to reply. “It’s not that easy, is it? There’s a lot more that hangs on the line, this is bigger than just you and me.”

“How so?”

“Well, our relationship, it could cause your charities problems.”

Louis immediately frowns. “That’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry tells him quietly. “And you know it.”

Louis sits up and fixes him with a stare. He’d like to be angry, but really, Harry is just being open with him, sitting there quietly while bathed in sunlight. “We would make it work.”

Harry smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, those are filled with a kind of sadness that makes Louis absolutely furious, makes him want to rant and rave at anyone who dared put it there. “Let’s just see what happens and deal with the aftereffects? That doesn’t sound like you at all. And it’s a really bad idea to boot. This isn’t just about you and me.”

Louis collapses against Harry’s chest with a heavy sigh. “Don’t use _logic_ against me. I don’t like it.” He doesn’t, can feel the pout coming on, but it is soothed when Harry’s fingers tangle in his hair, gently scratching his scalp. “Fine. Then we make a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yes sure, a plan. We come out in steps. Just because we tell our families doesn’t mean we need to tell everyone else. And maybe not the babies, ‘cause I’m not sure how well a six year old can keep a secret. Or if they really should have to.”

“Hmm,” Harry says softly, his fingers still carding through Louis’ hair. “In steps.”

Louis’ hand slides over his ribs, along the woollen sweater which Harry is wearing instead of his usual shirts. He leans up and presses his lips to the warm underside of Harry’s jaw. “Baby steps?”

Harry giggles, ticklish but still pulling him closer. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, baby steps.”

  


+++

  


“What the fuck does that even _mean_?” Niall has melted into the sofa some time ago and is asking from that prone position now. He takes another drag from the joint before Zayn snatches it from him.

“Means only you two know so far,” Louis tells him, trying to kick his ankle but he’s too far away. “Hey, Zayn, kick him for me, would you?”

Zayn does, under an exhaled plume of smoke. Niall, apart from all his complaining, doesn’t move.

“It took you guys fucking ages and now you’re keeping it secret? Why are you so fucking weird?”

Next to him, Harry starts giggling. He’s been giggling a lot since they took their first hit some time ago, snuggled tightly against Louis’ side, occasionally looking over the back of the couch with big eyes and asking in hushed tones if they _really_ locked the door. Which they did. And checked twice.

They’re also in the sitting room the farthest away from his mum’s and sister’s bedroom, and it’s well past midnight. “Didn’t know you’re the paranoid stoner type,” Louis whispers into his temple. He can’t stop touching Harry.

“Hey,” Zayn says, kicking his ankle now. “My weed is higher grade. You don’t get paranoid from this.”

Harry giggles into his skin again and Louis smiles, pulling him closer, even though Harry is practically already on top of him.

“You two are kinda gross,” Niall says, all philosophical.

“I’m sure I know you from _somewhere_ ,” Zayn says, apropos of nothing. He’s fixed Niall with a lazy stare and the moment Niall notices it from the corner of his eyes, his cheeks darken.

Harry points and laughs.

“Just drop it,” Niall says before snatching the joint from Zayn again.

“No but,” Zayn shifts, hands on his knees and leaning forward, closer to Niall. “I’m sure I met you before. Like before the restaurant, even.”

“Would you _please_ shut up,” Niall whines.

That phrase must jog Zayn’s memory, because his eyes go wide and he points an accusing finger at Niall. “Oh my god!”

“Yes,” Niall huffs. “Glad you finally remembered, you dickhead. Now shut the fuck up.”

“Did you know,” comes Harry’s rumbly voice. Louis doesn’t think he’s talking any slower than normal, but right now, it’s soothing, like he could listen to Harry talk for ages and just get lost in it. “You swear a lot when you’re high.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn repeats, his voice in a register Louis has hardly ever heard him use before. “You were dressed up as a pizza delivery guy!”

“I _was_ the pizza delivery guy,” Niall mutters. “And you were dressed as superman, so you should talk. With the hair and all.”

“Hey, it was Halloween. And I was hot.”

Louis vaguely remembers that, some Uni party ages ago. Well he remembers the start of it, at least.

“Yeah,” Niall says darkly. “That was kind of the problem.”

“What happened?” Harry asks, all cheerful and happy and with that rumbly slow speech Louis just wants to wrap all around himself. Instead he pulls Harry closer, nuzzling his neck until Harry squeaks.

“We had sex.”

Louis stops the nuzzling and looks over. Zayn looks accusatory and Niall is redder than ever.

“It was an accident!” Niall says quickly, like that would explain anything.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, smirking now. “You accidentally slipped and fell on my dick. I remember it now.”

That has Harry back to giggling. “Weren’t you fired from that job?”

“It wasn’t because of the sex!” Niall says immediately, jumping up from his seat.

“Well, hey,” Louis says placatingly. “If there’s ever a good reason for experimentation, Zayn’s face is probably it.”

That seems to calm Niall down somewhat, who drops back down with an arm over his eyes, a deep groan rumbling through his chest.

Harry, on the other hand, makes a noise that sounds much more like an unhappy and possessive growl.

“Now, now,” Louis tells him, trying not to grin too widely and failing miserably. “None of that.”

“You two really are gross,” Zayn says, having apparently completely forgotten the conversation from moments before. “Thank god my room is really fucking far away from yours.”

“What?” Niall sits upright immediately. “I’m in the room next to Harry.”

Louis has absolutely no plans to let Harry sleep in that room tonight. But it’s kind of fun to watch Zayn get that predatory look on his face as he leans forward and, in a completely cheesy tone, say, “you’re most welcome to share my bed tonight. We could reminisce.”

“Fuck you all,” Niall says, with feeling.

  


+++

  


“Well then,” Zayn says, hours later, or maybe just one. It’s hard to keep track. He stands and stretches, winking at Niall suggestively when he catches him watching. “I’m going to leave you two lovebirds to it now. Apparently your mum has a little hike planned for tomorrow, so I need my beauty sleep.”

“Like you ever participate in those,” Louis says, mostly for Harry’s benefit. “Weasel your way out of it every time.”

Zayn shrugs, already heading towards the door. “I don’t do physical exercise outside. There’s bugs and sheep shit everywhere.”

“You’re such a diva, I swear.”

“Oh shut up and go take care of your boy.” This time around it’s Louis who can feel his cheeks warm, suddenly weirdly aware of Harry’s presence next to him. “You coming, Niall?”

“No,” Niall says, vehemently. “I’m not sleeping with him.”

Harry shifts on Louis’ chest, looking up at him with crinkles around his eyes. “Well I don’t care what you do, Nialler, because I’m definitely sleeping with Louis tonight. And I’m not even tired.”

“That’s because I brought higher grade, jeez, I have to tell you guys everything three times, no wonder I'm bored,” comes Zayn’s last shout before he rounds the corner and heads down the corridor. They all roll their eyes in unison.

“Come on, then,” Louis says. The low simmer of excitement that’s been coursing through him for the last hour or two finally taking over. Together they stop by Harry’s room to pick up the essentials before sneaking down the corridor to Louis’ room.

“Wow,” Harry says when they close the door behind them. “You really are loaded.”

“Is it the ornate four-poster bed or the fireplace?”

Harry takes a quick look around. “No, I think it’s the attached living room we just came in through. It’s nice.”

“You’re easy.”

Harry grabs for him, pulls him in for a ridiculous kiss, bending Louis back until he’s clutching at his shoulders. “Thank you,” he says solemnly then laughs against Louis’ lips, eyes shining with mirth as he pulls them upright again.

Louis snuggles closer under his arms, wraps his own around the other man’s torso. “What for?”

“For introducing me to your family. For giving me a chance to meet them before we tell them. For a lovely evening with our friends. For not being pushy.”

“I thought you liked when I’m pushy?”

Harry’s smile turns decidedly dirty. “I do.”

“That’s good,” Louis hums, grinning when Harry bursts out laughing. He waits, nudging Harry’s jaw with his head until he can get at his neck, starts in on a hickey there.

“What’re you doing,” Harry ask breathlessly. “People will see.”

And god _yes_ , he wants the whole fucking world to see. Wants everyone to know that he’s found his better half. Wants to make damn sure they understand that he won’t tolerate anyone getting close to Harry, not like this. “Let them,” he growls, nipping at the skin and reveling in the shiver that rakes through Harry’s body.

“No,” Harry whispers.

It’s weak, but Louis pulls back regardless. “Fine. How about where they can’t see?”

Harry licks his lips and whispers, intrigued, “like where?”

Louis just smirks at him as he untangles himself. “I can think of several places,” he says offhandedly, walking over to the dresser.

“Several?”

“Mmh,” he hums. Harry is standing in the middle of his bedroom, lit only by the soft yellow-orange glow from the dimmed down lights. He’s wearing his ripped jeans with that comfy sweater. His hair is loose, framing his gorgeous face and trailing past his collarbone.

Louis beckons him over and Harry moves immediately, entwining his fingers with Louis’ outstretched ones the moment he reaches him. “You look stunning,” Louis tells him honestly.

“Thank you,” Harry says. It’s not bashful, he clearly knows he looks good, but he does sound appreciative of the attention. If Louis has any say in it, he’ll give him that kind of attention every day.

“I’m going take a shower quickly. It’s been a long day.” Harry’s face falls almost imperceptibly and Louis chuckles, pinching his side. “Didn’t say I was tired. I’m all yours afterwards.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, drawing closer.

Louis steps out of his reach. “After.”

Harry pouts prettily and Louis takes that mental image with him. He doesn’t have to remember it for very long as Harry joins him minutes later, warm hands sliding over wet skin. By some sort of unspoken agreement their touch never goes past light teasing, and instead of kissing they just, well, look at each other.

“This is terribly intimate,” Harry whispers.

It would be easy to make a joke, lighten the mood by saying something along the lines of ‘you’ve seen me naked from every conceivable angle but _this_ is intimate?’. Only Louis doesn’t, because Harry is right. It is intimate, still new and therefore slightly awkward, like they’re both still getting used to the _them_. “I love it,” Louis whispers back hoarsely instead.

Harry’s smile is blinding, just like he’d hoped. “Me, too.”

They don’t say anything after that, don’t really have to.

Louis steps out first, just when Harry lathers himself up with the body wash again.

He grabs a towel, makes sure to leave one in plain sight for Harry, and heads to the bedroom.

He’s just looking through his bag when Harry finally emerges. He stops in the doorway for a long minute and Louis doesn’t look up, gives him time to think it through.

Harry steps towards the large vanity bench. “You brought my wings,” he says softly, trailing his fingers along the edges of the white feathers.

“I did.”

Harry licks his lips. “Do you want me to dance for you?”

Louis steps closer, touching Harry like it’s second nature. “I’m not going to say no to that. But you don’t have to dance.”

“But if I put them on…”

“Like last time.” He swallows thickly but continues, “you do what I tell you.”

“And if I want to stop?”

Louis shrugs, trailing his fingertips along the inside of Harry’s arm. “You take them off. Or you tell me.”

“I --” Harry looks at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks because he has to make sure.

Harry nods before a slow smile spreads on his face, dimples his cheeks. “Other people just use a collar, you know.”

“I don’t want to tie you down,” Louis tells him. “I want you to soar.”

It takes a second, maybe two for the words to sink in. The moment they do, Harry pulls the towel from around his hips, gloriously naked, before slipping the wings onto his back.

Some inner tension falls away, the sort he only recognises as stressful once it’s gone. The thought that Harry might not be into this seems ludicrous now, but then it had been a big step for Louis to initiate it, and in such a clear manner, too.

He’s calmed by the look on Harry’s face, both eager and excited, so he takes a deep breath, tamping down on his excitement at the same time. There’s no need to rush.

He heads over to the bed, checking for the third time that lube and condoms are in easy reach. Nothing kills the mood like having to stop to go on a lube hunt, so he likes to start prepared.

But apparently they have already started, because when he turns around, Harry is still standing in place, arms hanging loosely by his side, his eyes tracking Louis.

He walks to the foot of the four-poster bed, far enough away to give himself room, and plants his feet shoulder width apart. “Come here.”

Harry smiles, bright and sunny, seemingly pleased just to be addressed. Harry comes, of course he does, his walk slow like he’s concentrating on the feel of each muscle as it moves. He smiles more, dimples deep even when he catches his bottom lip between his teeth.

He stops and Louis gently turns then so Harry is facing away from the bed. The straps from the wings are the only thing covering his body, long and lean with muscles slightly defined. He isn’t bulky but when he contracts his stomach or flexes his arm the definition is there. He’s soft and gentle until he moves, when the power of his body becomes apparent.

Louis could drink him in for days.

He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, a tiny movement but enough to give him away. His stance might be easy, comfortable, and he’s got that attentive look on his face, like he’s ready for instructions but doesn’t mind waiting either.

This is still getting to him, though, his hardening cock just another clue.

“So,” Louis starts, eyes still skimming over his boy’s body. “Would you like some hidden lovebites, or none at all?”

Harry’s gaze drops. He’s so open with everything that it’s weird how this, the idea of Louis leaving a mark on him, might make him bashful. He nods. “Hidden ones would be good.”

“Okay then. Mind if we talk a bit? About everyday things?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, of course not. But I just -- I mean I thought...”

Louis stretches out an arm to ghost a touch over Harry’s hip. “Thought what, love?”

Harry shifts again, into Louis’ touch, and chuckles. “Well, to be honest, I thought there’d mostly be dirty talk.”

“Ah,” Louis says, dragging his fingers via the ferns to his other hip, gently pinching the softness there. “But there’s other ways to turn you on.”

Harry smirks, all coy and flirty. “Gonna touch me instead?”

“No.” Louis pulls his hand back. “There will be touching. But mostly, there’ll be looking.”

Okay, so that doesn’t sound particularly sexy. Harry must think so too, judging by his look.

He opens his mouth, but Louis has had quite enough of him directing the conversation and he cuts him off quickly. “So, you’ve met my family, I’ve met yours,” Louis says, stepping closer, running one hand down his torso and watching Harry follow the movement. “And you’ve met my best friend. But when will I meet your friends? Apart from Niall, I mean.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Did you want to?”

Louis hums, stepping around him and letting his fingers drag over his forearm, to his back, tracing the arch of the wings. “Yes.”

Harry remains facing forward, shivering slightly each time Louis takes his hand off his body here and touches somewhere else there. “Most of them, my friends I mean, work with me at the club.”

Louis circles him further, fingers dragging around his other side until he’s back in front of Harry. He traces the edge of a pec muscle, watches Harry’s nipples harden. “Yeah, so when do I get to meet them?”

“They uhm. I mean we don’t really, like, meet up in private.” He’s tongue-tied, like the conversation is derailing his internal script and Louis has to fight off a smile.

A calmness settles over him, an almost analytical quietude that makes it possible to observe Harry, every move, angle and sound, without connecting it directly to a myriad of emotions. It’s fascinating because all Louis really feels is curiosity.

Like how he’s curious as to what Harry’s reaction will be when he softly drags his nails down the front of his chest -- a shudder. That brings up the question of whether it would be the same when he drags them over his hip -- it isn’t, Harry breathes out heavily through his nose instead.

“We don’t have to meet them in private,” Louis says and he’s so calm, doesn’t even know why, mesmerised by Harry’s beauty he supposes. He doesn’t even care that Harry is slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny, or the topic of conversation, because really, anything Harry gives him is fine, a treasure all on its own. “We don’t have to if you don’t want. Just thought I’d mention it.”

He steps closer, running the tips of his fingers along Harry’s palm, staring directly into his eyes as he slowly lets them travel higher, over the inside of his forearms. Harry swallows visibly when he reaches the crook of his elbows and Louis presses down harder. It’s not supposed to tickle, he just wants Harry to _feel_ , wants to feel Harry.

While he’s got him distracted with that, he leans in and gently sucks the skin next to a nipple into his mouth. It’s on the side closest to the arm because he’s promised to keep the love bites out of view and he knows the kind of shirts Harry likes to wear, the kind that show off his chest.

There’s a hitch in breath from above him, a twitch in Harry’s arm when he really gets to work on it, sucking the skin into his mouth to leave a proper mark. He pulls back suddenly, the skin slipping free with a soft pop. The colour is already a dark red, almost purple. He gently wipes away some spit, happy with the result.

He looks up. “So? Your friends?”

Harry blinks, eyes clearing only slightly, the tinge to his cheeks remaining constant. “You, uhm. You can. I mean I’d like you to meet them. I just didn’t know you wanted to.”

Louis nods, still so unbelievably calm, like he’d smoked a joint about an hour ago and it’s slowly wearing off, leaving him with nothing but a relaxed feeling. Oh wait, that’s exactly what happened.

The further he slips into that headspace, the more unsettled Harry becomes. And that, that has promise.

“You okay? You seem on edge.”

“Yeah, Louis, I just…”

“Yes?” Louis breathes evenly, his voice uncharacteristically deep. His fingers, having braved the crests of Harry’s shoulders and dipped into that tiny dent at the bottom of his throat, are now slowly walking down his chest again. There’s no particular path they follow, swerving left for a nipple here, circling back up to trace a tattoo there.

“Want to touch you, too.” Harry’s breathing picks up, his chest rising and falling more rapidly.

“Not right now. Time for me to look my fill now, isn’t it?”

“Louis,” Harry whines, shifting his weight again.

“What?”

Harry whines some more, looking almost petulant.

He leans in, whispers into Harry’s ear, like someone else might hear otherwise, “remember, you can take of your wings at any time. Or double-tap out.”

And Harry shudders at that, lets out a breath like he’d been holding it, nodding and saying, “yeah, yeah okay.” Louis lets one eyebrow draw up, his right hand pinching Harry’s nipple. Harry tries to collect himself, breathes out, before locking gazes with him. “Yes, okay. Wings off or double-tap out. Continue. Please.”

Louis smirks, but doesn’t let Harry see that for long, steps around him and sits down behind him on the bed, out of Harry’s sight.

For almost an entire minute, the room is filled with nothing but the sounds of Harry’s breathing, the slight rasp of the wings’ straps when he shifts from one leg to the other, the lines of his back growing progressively more tense. Eventually, Harry whispers, “Louis?”

“What is it?”

“Can I turn around? Please?”

Louis smiles to himself. “No.”

Another minute and Harry starts fidgeting. “Hold still,” Louis murmurs and Harry complies.

Louis gets up quietly and lets his fingers trail over Harry’s bum. He jumps at the first contact, mumbles, “sorry,” under his breath when Louis makes a disapproving sound. Patting his bum softly, he crouches down behind him to get a lovely eye-level view of it.

A quick tap to the inside of Harry’s thighs has him spreading his legs. There’s a sharp intake of breath from above him when he traces the ridge of Harry’s bum before sliding his hand further, cupping his balls in his hand like he’s trying to weigh them.

Harry remains standing still, nothing but a small whine escaping him when Louis squeezes softly. He wants to hear more of that, of the desperate sounds Harry tries so hard to suppress. Releasing his balls, Louis reaches further, pulling Harry’s hard cock down gently and giving him slow wanks. The speed doesn’t increase due to the awkward position, so he squeezes his fist tightly instead.

“When can I meet them?”

Harry doesn’t answer at first, he just spreads his thighs wider. Louis can’t help it, bites his left bum cheek before sucking a lovebite into it as well. He gives himself time on this one, gets it to a deep purple colour while still wanking Harry slowly, spreading his precome and enjoying the weight of him in his hand.

“We go, we go out after work. Sometimes. You can join.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, suddenly letting go of his cock and pulling his hand back. Holding him open with one hand, he lets his finger dance over Harry’s hole, pressing against it teasingly, never enough to slip inside.

He pulls back and murmurs, “stand upright again.” Harry brings his legs back together immediately. “Why after work?”

He doesn’t move, knows it makes Harry twitchy imagining the next touch, anticipating it to occur any second and getting more and more riled up when it doesn’t happen as expected.

And still Harry willingly lets him, trusts Louis enough to give himself over like this.

He moves to stand in front of Harry again, running his fingers along his torso and gently swiping over one nipple until it’s completely hard. “Mmh, so pretty,” he murmurs under his breath, letting the truth bleed into the sentence.

Harry gasps like a fish out of water and Louis kisses his jaw, nibbles his ear. “So, so gorgeous, just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He steps back, taking a good long look at Harry’s body before picking up their conversation from before. “Why after work?”

“That’s, that’s when we hang out,” Harry says and he hardly falls over that sentence at all, though he bites his lip hard when Louis’ eyes linger on his cock.

“What about during work?”

Soft, trailing touches to his ribcage prompt Harry to shift his arm and he holds it over his head so Louis’ path is unobstructed.

“There’s some downtime.” Harry scrunches his eyes closed like he’s trying to hold on to the thought. “Especially, uhm, before opening to the public.”

Louis kisses his bicep since it’s right there, mumbles a few words of praise before biting down on Harry’s arm. Not particularly hard, but with enough force to dent his skin a bit, to have Harry sucking in a surprised squeak. Louis sucks on the skin first before he kisses the freshly coloured flesh. The harsh sensation must fade because Harry starts giggling at the ticklish contact, pulling his arm closer protectively when Louis teasingly nudges near his armpit and the sparse hair there.

Louis lets him off the hook by gently pressing his arm back down until it hangs naturally besides his body again.

“I’d love to come to your club and watch you work. Just tell me a day that best suits you.”

“Anytime,” Harry murmurs, leaning down. Louis obliges, kisses him for a long moment.

Louis nods, his fringe falling into his eyes before he tucks it back into place. He grins at Harry, his palm pressed against the warm and soft skin of Harry’s chest. “Ready for the sexy times?” His choice of words has the desired effect, Harry giggling and nodding immediately.

He’s stopped his weird inspection of Harry’s body, not that his hands aren’t roaming over his skin, but now his gaze is concentrated on Harry’s face and it no longer seems to drive Harry to distraction.

“Any special wishes?”

Harry thinks about it, then shakes his head. “Nope,” he says, enunciating the word in great detail.

“Hands and knees then,” Louis tells him, nodding towards the bed. Harry complies instantly, crawling onto the bed and getting into position.

Louis looks his fill, notices Harry gets fidgety again. “Hold still,” he murmurs.

Dragging a hand down the line of his back is a temporary fix at best, just a tactile way of letting Harry know the path of his eyes. The command seems to calm Harry too, tide him over to the next bit.

Rationally, Louis knows Harry is aware of the fact that he’s utterly gorgeous, because well, he is. But he also understands that a little bit of praise can go a long way when it comes to a healthy self-esteem. Louis will gladly tell him, over and over again.

For now though he stays silent. He grabs the lube and warms some before gently trailing his fingers to Harry’s hole, listening to his soft gasp, head hanging low between his arms. Louis opens him up, dragging out the silence, his fingers a tactile indication of where his eyes have settled.

Harry moans and arches, arms shivering the longer Louis takes.

He’s calm, completely unhurried, his own arousal like a distant ache, nice but not demanding. He takes his time, touching Harry with his free hand on his waist, his spine, his thighs. When he strokes over the fresh purple bruise on Harry’s bum, he digs his thumb in until Harry clenches around his fingers, arms losing their battle and giving out, Harry’s face landing in the duvet where he moans loudly.

“Come on,” Louis murmurs while pressing down on his prostate, hard. “Back up again. Want to hear you.”

Harry is a shivering mess, moaning in a high-pitched, desperate tone as he gets himself back onto his hands and knees slowly. Louis helps him adjust the wings which had slid up his back. Soon Harry is pushing onto Louis’ fingers again, giving him auditory clues as to what works best for him, which parts of his body are the most sensitive while he’s slowly being opened up.

Louis drags it out far longer than is really necessary at all. But he likes this, likes touching Harry, likes when he arches into it, likes the occasional _please_ that spills from his lips.

Time truly becomes nothing but a construct, one he doesn’t comprehend because it doesn’t hold any importance. Only when Harry tightens around his fingers, whole body shaking, does Louis surface again, sure for a moment Harry just came.

Louis moves to check.

He didn’t, but there’s a shiver to his body that belies just how close he is and in lieu of biting the pillow, Harry has put another lovebite on his bicep.

Louis gently cups Harry’s jaw so he can see his face. His lips are bitten red from his fretting and his pupils are blown wide. He kisses him then, long and slow, stroking a soothing hand down his side.

“Wanna ride me?”

“Yeah,” Harry says but he sounds lost, small, like he doesn’t know how to proceed.

“Going to get everything ready, love,” Louis murmurs as he lies down. He grabs for a condom on the nightstand and rolls it over his dick quickly. Then he settles in comfortably, hands behind his head. “Go on then. Going to make it good for me?”

Harry nods, his eyes wide and face so, so earnest. “Yeah,” he says again, sounding almost drugged as he swings his leg over Louis and gets into position. There’s no teasing, only some fumbling before Harry sinks down, perfect tight heat all around his cock. Louis is glad he’s lying down because he’s sure his knees would give out otherwise.

Harry’s movements turn frantic almost immediately, too eager, wanting to do everything at once.

“Hey,” Louis says, so softly it’s a surprise Harry even hears him. But it’s like he’s hyper-tuned to Louis right now, like he’s actively reading Louis even for non-verbal cues, the way he shifts because _fuck_ does it feel good. Still, he makes himself say, “go slower, love.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, a wave of arousal washing through Louis at Harry’s expression, at the way his cheeks burn pink and his teeth dig into his lower lip. There’s so many things Louis wants to explore, so many reactions of Harry’s he wants to see, and for a moment he’s genuinely worried about his limited lifespan.

Harry goes slow and it’s incredible, perfect, tight heat combined with delicious friction. It’s so good that Louis is ready to come within minutes because Harry is also following Louis’ words to the letter, riding him in a way that is particularly good for Louis, rising up high and sinking down quickly, clenching around him with every move.

Pleasure shoots up Louis’ spine, tingles everywhere, in his toes, his lips, his fingers. He digs his nails into Harry’s thighs, slides his hand along the ferns, behind his cock, watches it bob against the back of his hand.

But Louis knows how Harry likes to ride, and this isn’t it.

“Baby,” he slurs because he really is that close, groans when Harry tightens around him. He motions for him to lean down, throws his arms around him and jars the wings. He needs to touch though, needs to feel Harry in his arms. “Want you to make it good for yourself now. Want you to only think about getting yourself off, can you do that?”

Harry looks genuinely puzzled for a second, like making Louis feel good is the only thing making him feel good too. “Want you to make it feel the best it possibly can. But I don’t want you to come.” 

That Harry seems to comprehend and he immediately stops rising up so high, sits down firmly and _grinds_ his hips. He grabs his cock as well, dark red and wet, giving it a few tugs, mouth falling open on a gasp.

A slight frown mars his perfect features, and he very, very slowly pulls Louis’ hand closer, bringing it towards his cock.

Louis smiles, has to bite his tongue to not ask the obvious. Instead, he wants to see Harry work through this.

“Feels best --” he pants, still grinding his hips, but not actually making Louis touch his dick, “feels best when you touch me.” He sounds so unsure, like he’s in conflict about following Louis’ instruction exactly and not inconveniencing him at the same time.

Louis sits up, just enough to wrap his fingers around Harry’s cock and kiss him deep. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs against his mouth. “Yeah, love your hands.”

Louis looks down, watches Harry push into his hand, grind back onto his cock and it’s -- it’s just amazing. “Got such a pretty cock, love. Gorgeous. Love touching you too.” 

Harry lets out a sigh, like he’s been holding his breath for a long time. “I love this.”

Louis sits up fully then, his free arm sliding around Harry’s back for support. “Yeah?”

Harry nods, a little desperately, before aligning their lips and panting heavily into Louis’ mouth. “I’m close,” he whispers, like it’s some kind of secret.

Louis pulls them together, chests touching, his hand sliding up and down along the muscles of Harry’s warm back. The need to feel him, to touch him everywhere is almost unbearable. “You gonna come?”

Harry’s hips stutter in their fast pace, just once. “Do you… Do you want me to?”

And oh, right.

“No,” Louis says, “not yet.”

Harry whines, but doesn’t stop moving, body shuddering every time he pushes down, takes Louis deep, clenches around him.

“Look at you,” Louis rasps, letting go of Harry’s back and placing that arm behind himself. This way he has more leverage, can fuck up into Harry. “All sweet and lovely the way you bounce on my cock.”

He tightens his grip and wanks Harry now instead of just letting him push into his loose fist.

Harry’s mouth falls open, forming words he can’t decipher, just an endless stream of nonsense that sets Louis’ blood on fire. He just grips him tighter.

“Louis,” Harry very nearly shouts, his eyes opening only half-way but not hiding the pleading in them. “Please, _please_. I’m about to come. Can’t hold it back anymore.”

He sits up again, his mouth sliding over Harry’s collarbone, hand all over his back. He can feel the muscles working as Harry rolls his hips, tight little thrusts, faster and faster now. “You can come with me,” Louis groans into his skin, latching on tight, fingers slipping in the slight layer of sweat on Harry’s back.

Harry starts mumbling again, pleading into his ear, arms around his shoulders as he speeds up yet again, hips in a filthy rhythm that has Louis groaning, tightening his fingers on Harry’s cock as he comes inside him in one hard wave, body twitching through it.

Harry almost sobs as he follows, relief and pleasure clearly hitting him at once and prolonging his orgasm. It’s intense, painting Louis’ belly first, the second spurt reaching up to his chest. Harry’s cock is a dark, angry red when the last bit of come is pushed out. Louis watches it in fascination and tightens his grip, can’t help but slide along it slowly, just to spread the wetness around.

Harry whimpers and Louis eases up, instead clutching Harry’s hip with his sticky hand and leaning up for a kiss.

“Fuck,” Harry says, slumping even more against him.

Louis chuckles as his fingers slide up his heaving back, soothing now, the sticky come on his fingers mixing with the sweat. They’ll have to shower again before actually going to bed. He bumps into the wings, trails under Harry’s shoulder blade instead. “Wanna take these off now?”

There’s silence at first, then a soft, “not yet.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “But you’ll still have to move. Need to take the condom off, clean up a bit.”

Harry does, pulls off slowly before gently pushing against Louis’ shoulders until he’s lying back on the bed. “Let me,” he murmurs.

Louis watches him as he gently removes the condom, dropping it into the wastebasket next to the bed. And then he’s leaning down again, his tongue flicking over Louis’ softening cock.

“What’re you doing,” he asks, hand going almost automatically to stroke through Harry’s hair. He’s still sensitive, but Harry is being careful, pressure just right, neither teasing nor too hard.

Harry moves, nudging Louis’ knees until they’re spread wide enough for him to kneel between, white feathered wings looking huge behind him.

“Cleaning you up a bit, like you said.”

Harry drags his tongue over his cock again, pops it into his mouth to clean most of the come away. And Louis is just clutching the sheets, cock softening but the visual of Harry on his knees, cleaning him with gentle licks, enough to get him thinking about round two.

It’s almost weird how careful Harry is, how loving. Louis understands the notion when there’s a hard cock involved, but this... this feels a little like worship and he doesn’t think Harry is doing it for Louis’ benefit.

There’s one last, sweet kiss to his dick before Harry moves up, licking away his own come from Louis’ belly. The drag of his tongue is slow and thorough and when he looks up his eyes burn, not bright and needy, but a deep, slow burn as he holds Louis’ gaze and drags his tongue higher.

It’s like he’s setting Louis on fire from the inside with his intensity, with all the things he’s saying with his actions, magnifying them with the intimacy of the eye contact.

Louis gets it now, understands how this might scare others off. It’s scaring _him_ too because he isn’t at all sure if he can live up to the image Harry has of him. He isn’t that good. He isn’t as wonderful as Harry seems to think.

By god, he’s going to try, though.

Harry’s hair is soft when he cards through it, his fingers tightening into a fist when Harry lingers around a nipple, his eyes still burning.

“Thank you,” Louis whispers but his voice still breaks. And suddenly it's even more scary when he realises what he’s thanking him for.

Harry’s smile is slow but genuine and he leans up for a kiss. His mouth is sticky and Louis pulls him closer, clutches at him like he’s afraid Harry will vanish from beneath his hands, will fly away.

He laughs softly. “I’m such a hypocrite.”

Harry looks at him softly now, smiling in that content way of his. “Why?”

Louis shakes his head, knows he’s being silly. “Let's talk about it some other time, okay? Tell me when I can meet your friends.”

Harry lies down, half on top of him with most of his weight shifted off, one leg tangled between Louis’. “Whenever you want. Though you’ve met most of them already.”

Louis nudges the side of his face, just because he wants to. “Want to meet them properly. As your boyfriend. You can meet mine, too. I have a reunion coming up. Or you could come to one of my fundraisers.”

Harry gets up enough to pull the wings off and place them carefully on the ground next to the bed. “Do you really want me to go?”

“Of course I do.”

“Oh. Okay.” Harry drags a finger up Louis’ chest and smirks. “Come on, you need a shower. You got yourself all dirty again.”

“‘S all your fault,” Louis complains. “Carry me.”

Harry chuckles as he rolls off the bed and drags Louis to the edge. “No, you’re old enough.”

Louis pouts, but it has no effect. Harry just walks to the bathroom, giving him a lovely view.

The moment he rounds the corner Louis feels the loss keenly, so he follows him with quick strides.

  


+++

  


The following Friday he joins Harry at the club. They leave early and grab a dinner beforehand. It’s nothing fancy, made all the more lovely due to the company.

Louis pats his belly and jokes about being just the right amount of full to be tired. Harry throws his napkin at him -- a move he _clearly_ learned from Louis -- while he complains about the night of work that lays before him.

It’s all talk though, because once they enter the club through a side door, Harry seems to be in his element. Every move is well practiced; reaching for a light switch here, opening a door there.

He chats to Louis the entire time, about the ideas he’s had for the club that turned out to be a flop. Others, like the wings, the entire theme, have clearly made it what it is.

He’s both proud and bashful about it and Louis can’t help himself, has to lean against a wall and pull Harry close, snog him for a good five minutes.

“What was that for?” Harry asks when they pull apart.

“You’re sexy when you talk business.”

Harry laughs, just like Louis had intended, and pulls him down the corridor. The back rooms are a veritable maze and Louis is soon lost. The next thing he recognises is the dark outline of the main room, the one that will be filled with customers and angels in just a little while.

Harry lets him play with the light controls while he checks over a cleaning roster and Louis bathes the inside of the club first in red then in green and finally a deep purple.

“The green we had for St. Paddy’s Day,” Harry tells him while ticking off something on his chart.

Louis fucks around with the controls some more until Harry is finished and steps between his dangling legs. He’s sitting on the bartender’s side, between the sink and the on-tap beers and Harry wriggles between his knees to take the remote from him and change a series of settings.

Moments later the entire ceiling of the main floor looks like it’s reflecting water, soft blues dancing above them, slow and mesmerising like a lazy tide.

“We had a mermaid themed party with that once. Had the boys swim around in huge tanks and mermaid fins. Was a bit of a nightmare with wrinkled skin and the water temperature never being quite right, so we moved on from that idea pretty quickly.”

That piques Louis’ interest and he sets down the control to pull Harry closer by the hips. “Were you a mermaid, too?” He winds one of Harry’s curls around his fingers and tugs. “Got the hair for it.”

“I tried it out, didn’t want them to do it in case it sucked.”

“Did you put on the fin?”

Harry stares at him, gaze travelling from his eyes to his lips and slowly back up again. Louis tugs on his hair just a little, just enough to remind him of the question.

“I did.”

It’s natural by now, the way he winds his free arm around Harry’s middle and pulls him closer still. “Do you still have it?”

Harry squeezes his eyes closed and breathes through his nose. Louis can see his nostrils flaring like he’s desperately trying to collect himself. He tugs a bit harder, just to unbalance Harry more.

“Uhm - I. Yes, I still have the fin somewhere.”

Louis smirks, throws his arms around Harry’s neck and wraps his legs around him, too, making damn sure he knows he’s caught. “You should show me that some time, Ariel.”

Louis wriggles happily, bum sliding closer and closer to the edge. Crashing to the floor seems imminent until Harry pushes him back again.

“You’re a menace,” he tells him like Louis hadn’t known that or something.

And he’s got so many comebacks, so many needling little jibes but instead of uttering any of those, all he says is, “kiss me.”

Harry does, his mouth eager and his tongue insistent, always wanting more.

Louis lets his hand travel down the front of Harry’s trousers, palming him through his pants, tracing the line of his cock and pressing the heel of his hand against it when Harry hardens.

“This is my workplace,” Harry reminds him, his fingers wrapping around Louis’ wrist.

Louis looks up then, adopting an expression like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “So?”

“Shouldn’t be hard.”

Louis just rubs him again. “Should stop me then.”

Harry slumps forward, thrusting unabashedly into his grip. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he complains.

“Boss-man!” comes a loud shout from across the club. Louis startles but Harry just curls into him more, like the real world won’t intrude if he just makes himself small enough. “And his boytoy.”

Louis snorts, pulling his hand away. “I’m too mouthy to be a boytoy.”

Harry doesn’t even move, just raises his voice to be heard. “Go away, Cameron.”

“Can’t,” Cameron says cheerily. “My shift is starting soon, so I need to warm up.”

Harry gives him one last, regretful look before taking a step back and running his fingers through his hair. The slight shake to them has Louis grinning like an idiot. “Cameron, you remember Louis, right?”

“Yupp,” Cameron says eloquently, finally reaching them. He holds out a hand, which Louis shakes. “Still think you should let him dance, he’s got a perfect bum.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, grinning.

Cameron blows him a kiss and Harry huffs.

“There’s no sitting allowed on the bar,” Cameron tells him conspiratorily. “And no sex outside of the personnel rooms. Those are the rules, Harry keeps nagging me about it every day. Just saying.”

Harry makes an indignant noise in the back of his throat. “That’s because you can’t keep it in your pants for more than three seconds!”

Cameron shrugs, like his boss’ opinion on his sex life is subpar at best. He pokes Louis’ side, reminding him, “no sitting on the bar. Boss-man said so.”

Louis leans in, whispers conspiratorially, “it’s okay. I’m boinking the boss-man now.”

Cameron nods, giving them both a once-over. “Yeah, I can totally see that happening. In fact, if you ever want someone to watch, get your exhibitionist kink going, I’m your man.”

“Go do something useful somewhere else,” Harry groans out, shooing him away.

“Fine, fine.” With a quick look at Louis he continues, “oh, and that guy, what was his name? Nathaniel. Nathan. Something. He asked for you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, your height, brown hair. Talks a bit fast. He wanted to have a coffee with you.”

“Hear, hear,” Louis says. “This Nathan guy, is he hot? Does he do threesomes?”

Harry scowls at him. Apparently, threesomes are definitely off the table, which Louis can appreciate. “It’s just a customer who asked me out and I turned down. Happens.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis grins. “How often, hot stuff?”

“See, this is why we need to double date. Louis is fun.”

“Cameron, please go get ready. Or do something. Anything, really.”

“Oh fine,” he says on a huff, flouncing away. He turns around suddenly and walks backward while he says, “but the offer about watching you two, you know, go at it, that still stands.”

With a deep sigh Harry says, “I’ll have to fire him.”

Louis snorts. “Yeah, _sure._ And then you’re gonna go kick some puppies in the park. You clearly adore him.”

“He is our best dancer,” Harry concedes. He isn’t even trying now. “And he did quit his last job to come work for me, even if back then nothing was guaranteed. Took a chance with me.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked him. So you’ve known him the longest?”

“Met at our previous job, almost six years ago. He’s a really decent human being, even if he tries to cover it with a shallow attitude.”

Louis shrugs. “We all deal with life differently.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Harry drags his hands through his hair, looking momentarily like he’s a long way off. Then he clears his throat. “I have to get stuff ready, do you want to hang out with the boys?”

Louis shakes his head. “Later. Want to watch you now.”

“It’s really rather boring.”

“Maybe for you,” he tells him. “Now go on, do whatever you have to do. I promise I won’t distract you.”

“You're always distracting,” Harry mumbles, to Louis’ delight.

He does go back to work though, slipping into the role easily, touching Louis whenever he’s close enough, like some automatic response to their proximity. It no longer distracts him from his tasks and he completes them efficiently under Louis’ watchful eye.

After a short but friendly phone call they head out back to accept a large shipment of alcohol, Harry walking between the boxes and ticking them off on the shipping list. All the while he keeps joking around with the delivery guy, calls him Dave in a familiar fashion and even introduces him to Louis.

“New guy?” he asks.

Louis opens his mouth but Harry interrupts him. “No, he’s my boyfriend.”

And it’s no big deal, just a random guy Harry comes into contact with a few times a week. But on the other hand it’s also everything, Harry telling a complete stranger that they’re dating and it makes something explode in Louis’ chest, the pieces stuck in his throat. He feels like the only way to dislodge them is to tell Harry how fucking in love he is, how he wants everyone to know about them. His mum first, even if she’ll kill him for not telling her sooner.

“See,” Louis murmurs when they’re alone again. “That wasn’t so scary, was it?”

“What?”

“Telling someone outside of your circle of friends. That we’re together, I mean. Just telling someone who wasn’t there when it all started, who didn’t witness it first hand.”

“I don’t have a problem telling anyone about you,” Harry assures him with a certain vehemence. “You’re perfect.”

If that were the case, their current situation wouldn’t exist. “Telling anyone apart from our families, you mean?”

Something changes in Harry’s expression, “look, we just have to be sure.”

“ _I_ am. I’m all in. The way you’re acting right now gives me a few doubts about you though.”

Harry steps closer to him, both standing amidst a sea of newly delivered alcohol. He reaches out but drops his hand, like he’s afraid of touching Louis right then. “Please, I don’t want to fight, Lou. We just have to make sure we know what we’re doing. If this -- if _us_ would in any way be a disadvantage to you, I can’t do it. Just… just give me time.”

Louis sighs, hates this. Hates the situation, the frustration at Harry’s reluctance and the fact that he could change it but would likely lose Harry by doing so. “I am giving you time, aren’t I?”

“Yes. Thank you for that.”

He nods but it still stings. He’s only human after all. In the back of his mind there’s that nagging little voice, the one that wants him to push, wants Harry to give in and tell everyone they know. The one that wants to blurt it out in front of everyone so they’re done with this.

But he came here tonight as a step in that direction, so he pulls himself together and searches for a change of topic.

“I like watching you work,” he says. “It’s fascinating.”

“Yeah? I’d imagine it’s rather boring to watch.”

“I like how you treat the people around you. It’s very decent. I’d imagine there’s people in your position who act very, very differently.”

“Oh, there are,” Harry assures him, leading him to another room, a tiny kitchenette that hosts a variety of teas as well as a coffee machine. It’s probably the weirdest thing Louis has seen tonight, not fitting into his idea of a strip club at all. “I worked for some of them, before I got the club. Where there’s money and power you’re bound to find dickheads. Tea?”

Louis nods dumbly and watches Harry prepare two cups.

While Harry works, he keeps talking. “Stripping and sex, they’re mostly about power too,” he says softly. Louis watches him closely, studies his profile while thanking all the gods he can think of that this business hasn’t jaded Harry more. “I applied for a job as a dancer first, but Paddy, the owner, said I wasn’t good enough. He said he saw something else in me, though, and gave me a chance as a event coordinator instead. I ended up being better at that than I ever would have been as a dancer. ”

Louis nods. “Because you’re such a charmer.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Talking to people, that comes naturally to me. I had a list of high-ranking clients in no time and when I told them about a special event they’d come and bring their friends. I got special deals for deliveries, I made sure the staff was happy and doing a good job. Took to it like a duck to water, Paddy used to say.”

Louis takes the cup Harry offers him and blows on it, still watching Harry. “You still in contact with Paddy? Sound like someone you admire.”

“No, he died a few years after I started. Used to smoke like a chimney.” Harry’s voice isn’t raw, the ache clearly an old wound, still present but no longer aching. “Worked for a couple of other places after that. Saw first hand the kind of arseholes this business can produce.” He takes a sip of his tea. “Don’t want to be one of them.”

Louis reaches out to squeeze his side. “You’re not, love. The people that work for you, they love you. Did I ever tell you I tried to steal Sophia away? Gave her my card and everything, told her she should come work for me.”

Harry laughs. “Did you really? What did she say?”

“Said she liked her boss, liked her job. Oh and also that I should get my act together and stop talking to her and find someone with wings instead.”

“And you did,” Harry says with a huge grin. “Me.”

Louis rolls his eyes.

The sound system starts up then, the music rolling from the main room into this one, almost jarring after the prolonged silence. Louis listens for a moment. “Isn’t that from Moulin Rouge?”

Harry groans. “They love all the 90s soundtracks, it’s like an epidemic. Come on.”

They head outside, the club still empty save for the dancers, some already dressed, some still in their street clothes. Someone must have started the club’s lightshow and it changes in time to the loud music filling the large room. Cameron is there, dancing with Jason of all people, both twirling each other and laughing easily.

There’s some residual dislike he feels, but Louis squashes it. It’s not Jason’s fault he got caught up in their weird mating ritual, it really isn’t. And he never dated Harry either. He’s just a guy Louis used to compare himself to and that is really only Louis’ problem.

“That’s Kieran taking pictures, he’s dating Cameron,” Harry says, nodding to a guy with broad shoulders and muscled arms, bare because apparently shirts are optional, the light reflecting beautifully off his dark skin.

“And see that guy lugging around the crates of beer? That’s Thomas, he’s the one with a crush on Sophia.”

Louis sizes him up. Thomas is big and muscular, even more so than Kieran, hardly straining under the weight in his hands. He blows some blond hair out of his eyes and deposits the beer behind the bar.

“I have a crush on Sophia, too. Think I can take him?”

“No,” Harry says in a weirdly sharp voice.

Louis furrows his brow. “Alright mate. I can see he’s bigger, no need to get snippy.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. You don’t have a crush on Sophia.”

And okay, if that’s what has Harry’s knickers in a twist, Louis needs to exploit it right away. “I really do,” he says, not even lying. “She might be my soulmate.”

Harry scowls at him, all humour having left his face. “There’s a girl that picks her up each night, Eleanor. Pretty sure they’re dating.”

“Soulmate,” Louis tells him again.

Harry steers him over to Kieran, who turns a blinding smile on him. “Louis! Heard you’re fornicating with the boss.”

“I said boinking!” Cameron shouts, still dancing. “You never listen to me!”

“I always listen to you, my darling.”

“We all do, unfortunately,” mutters Thomas who’s just come up behind them. “If I had a quid for every _‘oh yes, yes, yes, Kieran! Harder!’_ I’d be a rich man.” He gives Louis a quick nod. “I’m Thomas. Good to meet you, Louis.”

“Yes,” Harry says, like his thoughts had been drifting. “Everyone, this is Louis. Louis, everyone.”

Louis is pleased to see he isn’t the only one rolling his eyes.

He watches them for a bit after that and has no idea if there’s any real method to this madness. But apart from Thomas carrying beer, it doesn’t look like anyone is doing any work. This looks like a group of friends, hanging out and having a good time, shouting obscenities at each other and laughing at rehashed jokes.

Harry is pulled off into a conversation and Louis ends up chatting to Kieran. He seems level-headed, tells Louis about his four sisters within minutes, his eyes bright and happy. The note of pride that slips into his voice when he tells Louis that part of the money he earns from dancing gives them the chance to go to Uni is bright and clear.

They’re just comparing notes on who has it worse when it comes to younger sisters when Cameron appears out of nowhere and jumps onto Kieran’s back.

For his part Kieran doesn’t even flinch, just grabs him under the knees for support and continues talking to Louis like nothing happened.

“Hey so,” Cameron asks when there’s a lull in the conversation. “You and Harry, how serious is it? I mean are you just special male friends? Acquaintances? What?”

Louis smirks, can’t help but like his directness. He’s always appreciated that trait in people, generally bored of wading through social niceties himself. “Nah, nothing fancy like that,” he says. “Just boyfriends.”

Cameron nods, clearly approving of that. “We should double date.” He leans forward, mock whispering into Kieran’s ear. “We’ll finally have a couple that’s almost as hot as us.”

“You always think of the details,” Kieran tells him. It’s pointed but not mean, friendly banter just the way Louis likes it himself.

“Yeah, like how our boss-man will hopefully relax more, now that he’s getting it on the regular.” Cameron might be talking straight into Kieran’s ear, but his eyes never leave Louis, “he’s got good taste, doesn’t he?”

Kieran nods, his eyes skimming down Louis’ body slowly.

“Very pretty,” Kieran agrees.

And it’s right when Louis flutters his eyelashes at the both of them that Harry steps back into their little circle.

“Stop that.”

Cameron croons, moving so much he almost falls off Kieran’s back. “Oooh, boss-man is the jealous type!”

Louis pats Harry’s stomach soothingly. He’d laugh because Harry looks about as scary as a box of kittens, but it’s also weirdly endearing.

“Stop ogling my boyfriend and go get ready.”

Cameron nods to Louis. “You dancing again tonight?”

Louis gives them an exaggerated pirouette which he ends in a dramatic pose. “Got my moves all ready.”

“Hmm. Still think you should ask him to dance on stage,” Cameron says with a straight face, slowly sliding down a nodding Kieran’s back. “Think he’d be a hit.”

“No, he won’t,” Harry grits out. Cameron is already opening his mouth, but Harry interrupts him. “Go get ready now, _please_.”

They watch them walk of, still chuckling under their breath. Louis pokes Harry until he grabs his hand. “What?”

Louis leans into Harry’s chest and shifts to his toes for a quick kiss. “I can’t dance here.”

Harry nods, his hand sliding over Louis bum before he looks around suspiciously, like someone might be staring at it. “I know.”

“Can’t,” Louis whispers, leaning back into Harry’s hand. Giving him a salacious look, he slowly rotates his hips. “Because you couldn’t handle it, baby. You’d just stare at me all night and not get any work done.”

“I can see it now,” Harry whispers hotly into his ear. “Maybe we had it all wrong. Maybe you should have been the one dancing.”

Louis smirks. “I’ve got moves, love. You’d be surprised.”

“Nothing about you surprises me anymore,” he whispers into Louis’ mouth before kissing him thoroughly. “Now come on, Liam should be upstairs by now. I want you to meet him, I’ve known him for ages.”

Turns out Liam isn’t there yet, so Louis sticks around, shadows Harry wherever he goes. Once the customers arrive, he greets some people personally, has a quick chat with a select few, professional without showing it. It’s like his personality masks what he’s doing, lulls his opposite into a false sense of security while his mind stay sharp, makes sure to get the point across.

Louis might fall in love him him a little bit more right there.

After some time they head back upstairs in search of Liam, who apparently can come in whenever he wants on the days he closes up.

  


+++

  


Liam turns out to be… well, he’s _nice_.

He also tells Louis what to do in regards to his charities within the first five minutes of meeting. It goes downhill from there.

“He’s just trying to help,” Harry explains when they’re back in his office, the one with the slept-in looking couch and the desk overflowing with paperwork. “He’s a bit, awkward at first, I suppose.”

“You suppose? He implied my charities are skimming off the top!”

Harry runs his hands up and down Louis’ arms soothingly. “No, he said that happens a lot and asked what you’re doing against it. Liam is -- well he’s trying to be helpful. Him playing devil’s advocate is how he shows he cares.”

Sure, that’s a likely story. “He also implied I wasn’t good enough for you.”

Harry’s smile goes soft. “That’s because he doesn’t know you. He only knows me. And he’s been there every step of the way through my not-so-stellar dating history. He thinks I’m a moron when it comes to picking guys.”

“You aren’t a moron,” Louis very nearly roars. He doesn’t even know why he’s so revved up. Something in Liam’s tone of voice, in the way he spoke had just rubbed him the wrong way. His hackles had been up the moments he opened his mouth. “And I don’t like him saying that.”

“He doesn’t. He implies it.”

Louis throws up his arms in defeat. “That’s even worse. What kind of passive-aggressive bullshit is that?”

“Look,” Harry says, the gentleness draining out of his voice. “Can you calm down? Besides Niall, I've known Liam the longest. He’s a good guy, Louis, and he’s been through some shitty times. I don’t need you to like him, but I need you to be civil.”

Civil. Yeah right.

Anger still burning his veins, he’s utterly unprepared when Jason barges into the room without so much as a knock. Because common courtesy is clearly overrated.

“Thomas sent me,” Jason says, his eyes wide. He’s slightly out of breath. “He said to tell you there’s a problem. Sticky fingers?”

“Ah shit,” Harry mutters, straightening slightly. “What room are they in?”

Apparently, _‘sticky fingers’_ means they have a customer that didn’t adhere to his contract, that kept sticking his fingers into the honeypot. Louis is still trying to get over that analogy by the time the police arrives.

Two bouncers, who’d basically been sitting on the guy, are finally able to go back to work when the officers arrive.

"Sergeant Addington,” Harry greets the first one with a firm handshake.

He knows his name, without asking.

And Louis isn’t at all sure why it took _this_ for him to understand, to get this. This isn’t the first time the police had to be called. It won’t be the last. Take people who feel entitled, either by birth and upbringing or by the simple fact that they paid a couple thousand quid to get in here, and mix that with booze and this sort of situation is bound to happen sooner or later.

It takes this moment for him to understand that while to the public eye everything is kept perfect, kind of the name of the game really, Harry has a job that sometimes attracts the kind of people whose morals have shifted, been corrupted, who want to take, because hey, they paid for it. The type who get aggressive when drunk. The type of person who Louis himself could very much have turned into. In his early twenties that’s exactly the kind of place he would visit with his friends. He’d throw around money and he would expect to get what he wanted. Maybe not to this extent, but along those lines regardless.

If it hadn’t been for his family, the people in his life to ground him, he might very well be the guy sitting in that chair, tie sloppy and with a spill on his shirt, glaring daggers and occasionally ranting about how he’d take them to court for this.

Louis feels a bit sick at that.

“He was warned to keep his hands to himself at least three times," comes Harry’s voice after a quick chat with one of the dancers, who had clearly brought him up to speed. He sounds calm, looks it too. How the fuck is he so calm?

"You got any witnesses for that?" Sergeant Addington asks. He isn’t making eye contact with Harry, his posture suggesting he’s highly uncomfortable with all this but too professional to say anything.

"It was a private dance, but we've got it on film." Harry hands over the CD Jason had just dropped off. It has _grabby dickwad_ written on it in black marker.

“Still filming your customers?"

"It's part of the contract they sign when they come in. Safety first."

The officer shrugs before nodding. "Is your guy okay?"

Harry’s lips thin ever so slightly. "He's fine, thank you."

Addington heaves a relieved sigh. "Thank god for small favours. We'll book him for tonight, wait for him to sober up, then throw some charges at him, see what sticks. You know the drill.”

"Yeah. Thanks for coming by so fast."

"That's our job," Addington mutters. Then he raises his voice and speaks to his colleague. "Okay, let's get him out of here. We're done."

Harry follows as they escort the guy out and Louis isn’t far behind. They keep to the private areas, nowhere close to where the customers might get a glimpse of it. The show must go on, Louis suspects.

Harry slumps against the door he just closed behind the officers and drags his fingers through his hair. He looks tired, worried and angry.

Before Louis can step closer, lend him his strength or simply remind him he’s got support, Harry looks behind him to where some dancers, Thomas and Charlie included, have followed the spectacle.

“Don’t you have customers to entertain,” Harry asks. His voice is odd, like he’s going for lighthearted, but Louis knows it’s fake. “Get money shoved down your knickers?”

“My knickers are weighed down enough as it is,” says Thomas, waving a wad of cash at Harry. His bicep bulges at the simple gesture and Louis is acutely happy for the fact that they have Harry’s back, even if they pretend just to snoop.

“Shoo,” Harry says and for once they don’t oppose, scattering instead. But not before Thomas gives Louis’ arm an extra long, meaningful squeeze.

They head back to Harry’s office, his shoulders a stiff line and the silence a heavy weight between them.

“So,” Harry starts as he closes the door behind them. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s part of it, isn’t it?” He sounds calm, thankful he had some time to get used to it.

Harry slumps into his chair. “Unfortunately. Gets worse sometimes, too. I try to keep them safe, I do. But it’s just not always possible.”

“Hey,” Louis says softly, leaning against the desk and taking his hand. “You do, and they know that. They have your back. Because they know you have theirs.”

Harry nods before looking up, chagrin hiding the darker emotions in his eyes. “I just need a minute. Then I need to go check on Cameron, make sure he’s okay.”

Louis squeezes his hand. “Take all the time you need, love.”

As it turns out, Cameron is fine. He’s sitting on the back of the couch in the boys’ dressing room, people scattered around him like he’s holding court.

“It was just an arse grab,” he tells Harry. “I’m fine, I really am. Just count yourself lucky Kieran is busy on the main stage.”

Harry’s lips thin and he nods again. _Harry_ doesn’t look fine. “I’ve got him banned. I’m making some calls tomorrow, make sure he’s going to have trouble getting into other clubs as well.”

It’s not enough and judging by Harry’s expression, he doesn’t think so, either.

Harry carries a weird tension with him the entire night, almost running himself ragged trying to check on all the security measures, make sure they’re up to par.

They’re both riled up when they arrive at Louis’ place and even though he tries to talk to him more, Harry has shut himself off from the conversation. He heads straight for the shower and Louis sits on his bed, scrubbing his own face while trying to lose the nervous energy inside himself.

He wants to help Harry, wants to tell him he’s good enough, he’s doing everything he can, that everyone knows it. The world can be a dark place and even if tonight was just the barest glimpse at it, he doesn’t want Harry to feel like it’s on his shoulders, because that burden must be staggering. And he’d carried it so well, hadn’t let on to anyone. But Louis had still seen it, because Harry had allowed him to.

He takes his shower after Harry, a quick scrubbing down that is as much for hygiene as it is to get rid of tonight. He stops in his tracks when he returns to Harry sitting on the edge of his bed, the night time city landscape behind him.

He’s also wearing the wings.

Louis swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Harry nods. “Please.”

He steps closer, hand immediately stroking through Harry’s hair. If this is what he needs, Louis is more than willing to give it to him.

The towel from around his hips is pulled free, Harry nuzzling the skin of his torso, tendrils of arousal exploding in his belly.

He takes a deep breath.

“Lie down, love. Gonna take care of you.”

Harry shudders, sobs out a breathy moan and lies down.

  


+++

  


The next few weeks pass like a dream. Thursday to Saturday Louis usually spends in whatever UK city he needs to. Saturday evening, when Harry is still at work he lets himself in with a key he now calls his own. Louis is exhausted by then and he usually just wakes up long enough to murmur a hello to Harry, who crawls into bed around four.

Once Harry gets up on Sunday Louis has some sort of lunch ready, mostly take out because he’s lazy, but sometimes he stands in Harry’s kitchen while he’s still asleep and cooks up something.

The first time after spending more than half the week apart is generally rushed, every trick known to mankind being fair game to get the other off. Quick and dirty, that’s the motto. And it gets a whole lot dirtier when they get their tests results back and decide to mostly drop the condoms.

If at all possible, Harry comes home early from work on Sunday, goes to Louis’ place because that’s closer and that’s where Louis is by then. He trudges in at one in the morning, telling a tired Louis about whatever happened at work.

Monday is the day they do nothing.

“Nothing apart from each other,” Harry jokes, yet again. He makes the same joke every week and Louis has yet to grow tired of it. He watches Harry now, swaying to an unheard beat, cradling a mug to his naked chest. Louis has a very nice tea set, with mugs for everyday use, but Harry has taken a shine to the lumpy blue thing in the back, another attempt of Louis’ siblings at pottery.

“Yes, but where does it state that you can prance around my place butt naked, right by my floor-to-ceiling window front, too. Are you trying to give people an aneurysm?”

And Louis doesn’t mind, of course. It’s just that he’s come downstairs to find a cheerful Harry Styles gently swaying in front of his windows, wings in place as he hums. The morning sunlight is bright enough that Louis can just make out the dark outline against the glass, his legs long and beautifully shaped, the V of his torso appearing chiseled by marble. His curls fall down well past his nape and in this light, the wings almost look real.

And thinking of it rationally, Louis doesn’t much mind who sees Harry naked from the street, or the adjacent building, but at the same time a darker feeling expands in bis chest, unrelated to anything with rational behaviour.

Because Harry, like that, that’s only for Louis and he’s viciously protective of it. He can’t remember another relationship where he’d felt so much possessiveness, where he wanted to pull Harry back from prying eyes on the street, check him over and then maybe find everyone who got a glimpse and make sure they forget.

He doesn’t verbalise those thoughts, recognises them for what they are.

Harry’s unearthly beauty still has him stumped though, and he just sits down to watch him, off in his own little world, thoughtfully sipping his tea and swaying to the music in his head.

And when Louis takes out his phone and snaps one picture after another, even short little videos, Harry just encourages him, gives him tips on lighting while he preens under the attention.

Eventually, he falls to his knees before him, sucking his cock languidly, looking up into the camera with the wings flared out behind him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.


	5. Chapter 5

One week later, Harry stretches in his own bed, content, and smiling up at his ceiling.

The morning had been, well, perfect, really. Mondays are quickly becoming his favourite day of the week, regardless of whether they’re spent at Louis’ place or here.

He gets up quietly, careful not to wake Louis who has dozed off, and tiptoes his way across the room.

“Get me a drink?”

The moment he hears Louis’ words, he stops and looks over his shoulder. Louis is sprawled naked on his bed and looks particularly fine after a round of early-morning sex, hair disheveled and face utterly relaxed.

“You look good,” Harry tells him as he turns around, rests his naked hip against the doorjamb. His eyes travel over Louis’ chest to his cock, still soft, resting against his thigh.

Louis is giving him the same slow once-over. “Same goes for you,” he says. His eyes turn mischievous. “Now please, get us something to drink and then get back in bed.”

“Why,” he asks, just the hint of a challenge in his voice. “What you gonna do to me?”

Louis shakes his head. “Stop being cheeky and get going.”

Harry smiles widely. “So you don’t have a plan then?”

“I can’t think up plans when I’m thirsty!”

Harry turns around to wiggle his bum at Louis. “No plans for this?”

He squeaks when a pillow hits him right in the bum. Louis is laughing. “Oh my god,” he wheezes, making hand motions as if to shoo Harry away. “Go. Just go, you giant dork.”

The giggles escape all on their own, the sheer happiness Louis is exuding like some trigger. Instead of leaving he heads over to the bed, climbs on it quickly until his smiling mouth is pressed against Louis’ equally smiling one.

“Where’s my water?” Louis asks through his laughter.

“Didn’t bring any,” Harry murmurs. Then he drops is voice comically deep, “got something else for you, though.”

He has to look down at his cock pointedly for Louis to get the joke. Once he does, he howls with laughter, curling into a flailing ball under Harry. “Stop!” Louis pleads with tears in his eyes. “Oh my god, I swear you’re hereby banned from dirty talk. You suck at it.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows. “Suck at other things, too.”

“Stop,” Louis coughs out, clutching his tummy and weakly trying to push Harry away. “No seriously, stop. You’ll regret this later.”

“Yeah? Gonna punish me?”

Louis is still laughing, but something flashes in his eyes. “Don’t give me ideas.”

Harry flops down on him, starfishing on top of Louis who tries and fails to free himself. “What?” Harry starts, peppering the side of his face with soggy kisses. “Gonna make me do stuff? Like make me get you water? How boring.”

“Oh my god, you’re disgusting!” Louis shrieks when Harry accidentally gets his tongue in Louis’ ear. “It’s like you were raised by wolves.”

Harry pulls back and blows gently into Louis’ wet ear. Louis screams and flails and Harry moves back when Louis’ limbs start connecting with his soft bits.

He opens his mouth, but Louis clamps a hand over it. “No,” he says firmly, pulling a face when Harry slobbers all over his palm. “No more bad dirty talk. Now please, get me a drink. Or get off me so I can get it myself.”

Harry nips at Louis’ palm, noticing how they’re pressed together from head to toe, gloriously naked. He shifts, smile turning wolfish. “You’re hard again.”

“That’s an astute observation there, Curly. Now be a dear and get up.”

Harry shakes his head. “Want a kiss.”

“My mouth has dried up,” Louis complains. “Due to lack of water.”

When Harry presses their lips together though, Louis’ mouth falls open easily and he teases Harry’s tongue with his.

Harry hums against him, shifting so their cocks can rub together. And it’s natural, the way Louis legs fall open so Harry can slide between them, get a better angle to grind down.

This goes on for some time and while it’s getting them more and more turned on, it won’t be enough for either one of them to come again. Harry moves Louis onto his side and shuffles around until they’re in a proper sixty-nine position. His mouth is around Louis’ cock in no time, sucking him deep and moaning when he bucks deeper still.

Louis doesn’t reciprocate, instead drags Harry’s leg over his shoulder, spreading his thighs and holding him open. Then there’s two spit-slick fingers circling his hole, pushing in moments later and causing his stomach to clench at the sensation. The slide is easy thanks to the lube from earlier. He feels a bit tender but mostly horny and he pushes back immediately while going down all the way and swallowing around the cock in his throat. His own cock aches though, needs to be touched desperately.

Louis doesn’t, just hits his prostate and thrusts his own hips forward.

“Suck my cock,” he murmurs, adds, “please,” when he hears how demanding that had sounded.

Louis finally shifts Harry’s leg enough to catch the tip of his dick, lets it slide between his lips. The sensation that explodes inside of him is amazing, all-consuming, makes him suck Louis down harder, push back on his fingers and --

The doorbell rings.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” Harry chants when Louis pulls back, looks at him between the valley of their bodies. “Don’t stop. Please. _Please_ , don’t stop _._ ”

“Who is it?”

“How should I know,” Harry almost shrieks. “I’m not psychic.”

Louis makes a face, pulls his fingers free and ignores Harry’s whimpered protest. He rolls out of bed and walks over to the intercom, hard cock glistening with Harry’s spit. “Want me to answer?”

“No.” Harry groans and gets up. The quicker he gets this sorted, the quicker they’ll get back to fucking. He presses down on the button. “Hello?”

“Harry?” comes his sister's voice. She sounds off, like she’s maybe been crying. “Harry I -- can I come up? It’s Matthew. We, we had a fight. I broke up with him.”

Harry lets go of the speaker and slumps against the wall. “Shit,” he mutters, pressing his eyes closed. “I’ll have to let her in.”m

Louis’ eyes widen and he points at his crotch. “This is your fault.” Then he points at the intercom. “That’s gonna take hours and I have a meeting!”

Harry can’t help it, has to laugh at his indignant expression. And thankfully the absurdity of this entire situation dawns on them and Louis chuckles as well, ruefully shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, his palm sliding down Louis’ warm arm soothingly. “And I promise to make it up to you tonight.”

Louis just makes a harrumphing sound, but Harry doesn’t think he’s actually annoyed. If anyone, Louis understands that family always comes first. He pulls him in for a placating kiss.

The buzzer rings again.

“Get dressed,” Harry laugh-whispers against Louis’ lips. He steps back, knowing their only other option would be to tell Gemma about them. And Harry isn’t ready for this thing they have -- this amazing, stunning thing -- to see the light of day, sure it would get tarnished somehow.

He tells Gemma to wait, that he’ll come pick her up instead. She complains vehemently which ends in a discussion about just ringing her up. That gives Louis enough time to slip into his clothes, curse Harry while he carefully zips up his jeans over his half-hard cock, and gather his things.

Harry gets dressed too, wishing now more than ever that he’d taken a shower.

Louis is trying to fix his hair, tweaking it this way and that while staring at himself in the mirror. “Hairbrush?”

“Top drawer,” Harry tells him while pulling a fresh t-shirt over his head.

“Hmm, Nathan Flemmings,” Louis says.

“Who?”

Louis holds up a business card, which Harry has a tendency of dropping into the same top drawer as his hairbrush, especially when he doesn’t know what to do with them, but still feels guilty chucking them out.

“Oh,” he says, squinting at the small rectangle and trying to place it. “Think that’s the guy from the club. The one that’s asked me out for coffee.”

“The one Cameron mentioned?”

Harry has to strain his memory a bit for that one. “Yes. Yes I think so, why?”

“Should I be worried about this guy?” Louis’ question is casual, but something in his stance tells Harry he’s anything but.

Three steps and Harry is back in his personal space. Louis’ posture is just a little stiff and Harry cups his face in his hands so Louis has no choice but to look at him. “He’s just a customer. Every few months, he comes in and mostly sits by the bar. He chats with everyone, knows half the staff by name. That’s the extent of our interactions.”

“He’s asked you out.”

Harry smiles at him softly. “People do that from time to time. But I never accept. Why should I,” he gives Louis a peck. “Got you, don’t I?”

Louis grumbles but the mood has definitely shifted. “Good. Despite what I said about a threesome the other day, I actually don’t like to share.”

“No threesome, got it. I’ll cancel the appointment I’ve made at the local orgies center for next month then, shall I?”

“You’re a dick,” Louis says as he pulls back. There’s a secret little smile on his face though, so it’s all good. Harry watches him move around the room to collect his stuff. When he’s finished, Harry holds out the hoodie he’d been wearing last night while they’d watched a movie.

“What’s that for?”

“It’s cold out,” Harry says. He also likes to imagine Louis wears his clothes when he’s alone, looking swamped in them, but cuddly and warm. “Might need it.”

Louis takes it with a grin. “Look who’s being possessive now.”

Harry shrugs. There’s no reason to deny it, so he doesn’t bother.

The doorbell rings again, annoyance clear in how long Gemma holds down the buzzer. They head out into the hall and to the elevator together and when the doors open, Harry presses two buttons. “I’ll let you out on level four. And when I’m back upstairs with Gemma you can leave. That way you won’t run into her.”

“It’s like I’m your dirty little secret,” Louis grumbles, clutching his stuff to his chest. There’s still a smile tugging at his lips that tells Harry he isn’t being serious. That maybe he sort of likes this, just a little bit.

Harry leans in and kisses him, “the dirtiest.”

They laugh softly, but Louis also pushes him back, fixing him with a hard glare. “It’s fun now, but that won’t hold forever. So whatever your hang up is, sort through it, yeah?” He leans in for a sweet kiss. “I wanna tell my family about you.”

Harry gulps heavily and nods, feeling like a liar the entire time.

Louis gets out on the fourth floor and they kiss goodbye slowly, Louis finally pushing him back into the elevator. “Go be with your sister.”

He watches Louis’ smiling face as the doors close, wonders how long he’s got until Louis won’t be satisfied with what they have, wonders how they’ll make this work.

Gemma is waiting for him impatiently and she shoves in next to him with a soggy huff, tissue still clutched in her hand. He wraps an arm around her and she bursts into tears against his shoulder, even before they’re inside his place. Shit, must be serious then.

He sits her down in the living room and goes to make tea. While the water is boiling, he pulls out his phone and texts Louis, just to let him know it’s safe to leave.

He gets an answer seconds later.

_im still thirsty youre useless_

Harry just laughs and sends back the kissing emoji. Then he shoves the phone away and takes the two cups of tea to the living room.

“What did he do now?” He’s quite proud of the neutrality of his voice, but his sister still cuts him a sharp look.

“I’m just so sick of it. I mean he’s thirty five and what does he have to his name?” Harry very manfully doesn’t mention how he’s been saying that for years. “Normal work is too boring, so he coasts by on his parents’ money and what he gets out of his DJ gigs. And he has these grand ideas, for music and books and it all sounds so exciting, you know?”

Harry nods and blows on his tea. “He does have some good ideas.”

“I know! But then he completely and utterly lacks follow-through. Remember when he printed that photography book? He was so amped at the beginning. And then the printers dragged their feet and he had to actually do something, you know, phone them and get shit done.”

Harry does remember, very clearly, in fact. The self-publishing had taken Matthew almost two years longer than expected. Two entire years. He’s not surprised that by the end of it, he’d lost all interest of actually selling the thousand copies he now had lying around.

“Anyway,” Gemma says, still sniffling. “He just told me he had a row with his parents. And they’ve had enough. They want him to pay rent now. You know what he did? Said we could share the cost, that it would be really low. And I agreed, because you know I’ve always felt weird staying there for free.”

Thinking about it brings on a fresh wave of tears and Harry waits patiently, lets her cry it out.

“Go on.”

“Well, his mum called earlier. Wanted to thank us for the first payment. Turns out, he’s making me pay three quarters of it, and he didn’t even tell me! He said we were sharing the rent. How the fuck can I stay with a guy who thinks like that? I mean sure he had some story when I asked him, you know how he is. And he probably believes it, too. But I just stood there and listened, thinking what the fuck I was doing, why I was wasting my life like that.”

Harry has to bite his tongue. He nods instead, taking a sip from his tea.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Her face is taking on a resolute expression. “I’ve decided to take a holiday.”

“A holiday?” The surprise in his voice is apparent, but then, so is the information.

“Yes. I don’t even care where to, I just need a change of scenery. Where’s your laptop, can you get it?”

“Uhm, sure. Why?”

She looks up at him, the defiance only barely masking the fragility beneath. “Got to book my flight, don’t I?”

He takes her hand and gives it a small squeeze. “Yeah, I think that’s a really good idea.”

She bursts into tears again and it takes him a good five minutes to calm her down.

Shortly thereafter, they book her a flight, leaving tomorrow and heading for Italy. Some minutes later, she’s even found a place to stay, all thanks to Airbnb.

“At least I’ll have some good food to enjoy,” she says as he tucks her into bed.

They’ll worry about all the rest, her stuff still at Matthew’s place, her freelance job, her _life_ , they’ll worry about it tomorrow. For now, Harry is adamant she only concentrate on taking care of herself.

“You’re a good brother, you know that?”

He squeezes her hand again before getting up and heading to the door. “Nothing you wouldn’t do for me, right?”

“Right,” she agrees, just before he softly closes the door.

 

+++

 

Apparently, their mums _talked_. And now his mum had gotten it into her head that Harry needed to be set up on a date.

She’s taking it as an excuse to throw yet another party, a brunch this time, but when she presents him to Will, the son of one of her new, rich friends, Harry is momentarily speechless.

To say it’s awkward, would be an understatement. And he hasn’t even had time to warn Louis. As always, he’s running late and that just sets his nerves on edge even more, listening to Will with half an ear while mostly sweeping his mum’s sitting room, agonising over when Louis will arrive.

He walks through the door several long minutes later, his sister in tow, but Harry only has eyes for Louis. His knees buckle, just a bit, when he sees Louis has his hair swept back again, only the faintest stubble on his face. He must have shaved since this morning, when he left for work, some emergency meeting on a Saturday, kissing Harry goodbye for a good ten minutes.

Their eyes meet and Louis’ go all soft, the way they always do when he hasn’t seen Harry for any amount of time. Harry wants to go over and kiss him, burrow closer for a hug, wrap himself all up in Louis.

“William,” Louis says, and the tone of his voice has Harry biting his lip. “Good to see you again. And Harry Styles, hello to you, too.”

“You know each other,” Harry asks, foreboding settling in his stomach.

Louis claps Will’s shoulder. “Since Uni.”

“Oh yeah.” Will sounds relieved to have a friendly face nearby, anything to escape this awkward silence they’d been in, really. “How could I forget Louis Tomlinson. Snagged more of my dates than I care to remember.”

“Ah well,” Louis says, pointedly not looking at Harry. “I’m a changed man now.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve settled down?”

“Not yet,” Louis agrees easily. This time, he looks at Harry straight on. “But now I no longer bother unless I know it might be the real deal.”

“No shit?” Will’s laugh reminds Harry of stereotypical frat boys as portrayed in movies. It also sets his teeth on edge. “Never thought I’d see you mellow out.”

Louis doesn’t raise to the bait, instead he fixes Will with a cool stare. “I’m chock-full of surprises.”

“My mum set me up on a date with Will,” Harry blurts out. Will looks at him like he’s lost his marbles, while Louis’ eyebrows just rise and rise. By way of apology Harry adds, “I just found out when I arrived.”

Louis looks from Harry to Will and back to Harry again. A small smirk forms on his lips and the feeling of foreboding just intensifies inside Harry’s gut. “Well then,” he drawls, completely ignoring Harry’s pleading look. “I should leave you to it, then.” He looks around, scanning the crowd. “I should be on the lookout as well. Maybe I’ll find someone, too.”

“Still can’t believe you’re actually looking to settle down,” Will says and he sounds about as desperate as Harry feels. Clearly neither of them want to go back to the tense silence, interspersed with stilted conversation.

Louis flat out ignores the comment, instead tips his imaginary hat in their direction and, after locking gazes with Harry for just a moment too long to be considered normal, he sweeps away.

Harry watches him go, gritting his teeth when it becomes clear that Louis is only swaying his hips quite so much to make Harry uncomfortable.

And, it’s working.

“So,” Will says into the silence. “How do you know Louis, then?”

 

+++

 

“Louis!” Harry giggles, half in outrage and half giddy because Louis isn’t being very careful _at all_.

“Ssh,” Louis responds, pulling the pantry door shut behind them. “Or do you want them to hear us?”

He can feel his eyes widen, feels all his blood rushing south. Because that? That’s Louis’ sex voice. When he’s secretly been watching Harry for hours, wanting him but not acting on it. He’s always more forceful then, like he’s punishing Harry for his own decision to wait. Harry wants to _purr_.

Louis steps closer, his body pushing along Harry’s as he moves just slightly onto the tips of his toes and pulls Harry’s head down for a searing kiss. Harry groans into his mouth, wraps himself around Louis as he bends down and lets Louis lead the kiss, lets his tongue push past his lips and lick deep.

Louis’ hands are already on his shirt, unbuttoning and letting his fingers roam over the bared skin. Then he busies himself with Harry’s jeans, pulling back just enough to speak hotly against Harry’s lips, “can’t stand to watch you out there, not able to touch you. Wanted to put my hand around your waist while we all milled around in the kitchen, wanted to put my hand on your leg on the couch. Most of all,” he says, “wanted Will to get the fuck away from you.”

Another hot, direct stare and Louis pushes Harry’s trousers and pants down to his knees, urging him to step out of them. One trouser leg gets stuck on his shoe and Louis just huffs before deciding to leave it. Then he’s kissing Harry again, groping his bum, fingers sliding between his cleft. Harry arches, nipping Louis’ neck. “Touching me now.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, pressing his fingertip against his hole. “Couldn’t stop watching you. Your -- your fucking shirt falls open whenever you lean in to listen to someone. Flash a nipple every time.”

It’s true, and Harry had been well aware of it. His conversation with Will hadn’t really picked up, but he knew Will had checked him out. He clearly hadn’t been opposed to them getting it on, even if he thought Harry to be an idiot.

Louis tweaks the nipple in question before pushing Harry’s shirt off his shoulders, looking at the material for a long moment.

“Turn around,” he says, voice a deep rasp, “Hands behind your back.”

Harry feels the material slip around his wrists, a strong flash of need pulsing up his spine. There’s no intricacies to the restraint, no real hold to it. But it does function as a constant reminder that Louis wants his hands behind his back, unable to use them.

A pressure between his shoulder blades is Louis’ way of telling him to bend forward. He does, until his torso rests on an almost empty shelf. Cans of cubed tomato sit right in his line of sight, jars of pickles just beyond.

Louis grabs for a bottle of olive oil. “Extra virgin,” he reads as he pours some right down Harry’s crack. It’s cold and he gasps, pleased when Louis leans down to place a row of apologetic kisses along his shoulder. And then he gasps for an entirely different reason, Louis’ finger nudging impatiently inside of him.

“No teasing?” Harry asks, his cheek sliding along the slightly dusty wood. He braces his legs, muscles tight, to make up for his lack of steadying hands.

“I know you like it baby, but not right now.” Louis adds a second finger, spreading them quickly and Harry groans at the pleasure, at the way his skin tingles all over. “Gonna tease you tonight if you want. Won’t let you come for hours.”

Harry pushes back, panting at the idea of having his orgasm denied while Louis takes his time. Or at being fucked quick and hard in his mother's pantry, with their families just down the hall, the date he has no use for none the wiser.

“Can do you bare, will that make up for it?”

Harry nods so fast he almost dislodges the carefully stacked cartons of spaghetti. “Yes, please,” he whimpers, pressing back for more, needy and uncaring.

Louis pushes in once, twice more, makeshift lube shoved in deep before he retreats. “Spread your legs, love. You’re too tall like that.”

Again Harry scrambles to comply. There’s a note of command in Louis’ voice that makes Harry feel wanton, makes him arch his back, spread his legs in supplication. He can see his expensive skinny jeans bunched around his ankle while dragging in the dirt, sees sacks of potatoes near his glittery boot, packets and packets of tea on the bottom shelf.

But all he cares about is the feel of Louis’ hand on his back, firm, until Harry spreads his legs further, bends his knees. And then he’s gasping, mewling, because Louis’ cock nudges at his entrance, unrelenting pressure that Harry breathes into, relaxes for.

Louis pushes in deep and Harry cries out at the feeling of fullness, of Louis inside him, of the fireworks setting off all over his body. His thighs tremble, already tired from holding the position for too long. His fingers curl around the shirt tying his wrists when Louis pulls back, his breath harsh in the darkened room.

Louis really isn’t in the mood for teasing. Or taking it slow. Instead he grips Harry’s hips, jarring the side of Harry’s face against the wood by fucking into him hard and fast right off the bat.

Harry wants to scream, wants to tell Louis over and over how good his cock feels, how perfect his rhythm is. But he can’t, has to think of the people that could come into the kitchen at any moment, into the pantry that has no lock. He clenches hard around Louis, wrenching a groan from him. The grip on Harry’s hips turns bruising, the slapping sounds getting louder when Louis picks up the pace.

“Louis,” Harry garbles helplessly, trying to keep his upper body from sliding along the shelf and mostly failing.

At his name, Louis twitches inside of him and Harry goes a bit insane from it all, from Louis all around him, in him, his nerves on fire while Louis leans down and bites where neck meets shoulder. “What?”

“Louis,” Harry whines, no idea what he wants to say. He just doesn’t want Louis to stop, ever, wants to keep getting fucked like this until he comes, way past that. But all he gets out is a desperate, breathy, “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please.”

“Sssh,” Louis soothes, pushing in deep and wringing a grunt from Harry’s lips. “I am, baby. Wouldn’t stop fucking you for anything in the world, not even if someone walked in on us.” Harry groans, wishes for a pillow to sink his teeth into. Louis chuckles against his back, warm breath singeing Harry’s skin. “Didn’t know you had such an exhibition kink.”

“Don’t,” Harry _lies_.

“Hmm. Is that why you tighten around me every time I mention anyone could walk in? -- yeah just like that, clenched right up like you’re about to come.”

Harry mewls, too loud but unable to help himself. His lips tingle like he wants to wrap them around something, every spot Louis is touching along his back exploding with sensation. He feels helpless in this position, like he has to just take whatever Louis is giving and it has him so hot he’s pretty sure he’s dribbling precome to the floor.

Vaguely he hopes it doesn’t land on his jeans, but mostly he just doesn’t care.

“Louis,” Harry whines again. “‘M close.”

“Yeah baby, me too.” Louis slips his thumb down Harry’s spine and doesn’t stop, not until he’s touching his rim, feeling where his cock is pushing over and over into Harry’s hole. “But I don’t want you to come yet.”

A frustrated sound slips from his lips as he curls in on himself, trying to contain the tiny explosion inside his belly to escalate into an actual orgasm. Louis stands up straight and with a grip so hard Harry knows there’ll be bruises there tomorrow, pounds into him in earnest. “Gonna come first baby, yeah?” he rasps out in a tone of voice Harry has never heard him use outside of the bedroom. He shivers and bites his lip, wills his orgasm back. “Then I’m gonna suck you off until you come, okay?”

“Yes,” Harry tells him quickly, almost coming from the thought of Louis on his knees alone. “Yes, okay.”

Louis makes a happy sound before concentrating fully on himself, pulling Harry onto his dick and fucking into him hard and deep. It isn’t meant to make Harry feel good, not that it doesn’t. A thrill still shoots up his spine as Louis just takes what he wants, using Harry to get himself off. There’s a stinging slap to his arse and Harry can just pray that it’ll leave a hand shaped print. He’s so turned on, he almost comes by accident, gasping and tugging his bound hands.

And then Louis comes, fingers digging into his flesh and cock buried deep. Harry can feel him pulse inside of him, arches and flails because it’s all just too much, too good --

And then he’s suddenly empty, cries out, and Louis twists him around, falls to his knees with a feverish glint in his eyes. “Want you to come quickly now,” he says while grasping Harry’s neglected cock and bringing it to his lips, “or I’m zipping you back up and making you go outside with my come dripping out of your arse and your cock still hard.”

Harry throws his head back, hitting a shelf and not even caring because _fuck_ \-- and then Louis’ lips are around his dick, tongue pressing firmly against the underside of the head. He bucks forward, surprised Louis lets him, and tries not to let his knees buckle under him.

And then there’s fingers between his thighs, slipping between oil-covered cheeks. Louis shoves two in while bobbing his head, crooks them when he takes him deep.

And Harry convulses, the groceries rattling behind him as he arches his back and comes down Louis’ throat. The orgasm feels suspended in time, like maybe he’s stuck here forever, and just when he thinks he’s coming down Louis presses his fingers hard against his prostate and there’s another cresting wave, more come. By the third time, and against all previous experiences, Harry dribbles out yet more come. He’s seeing black spots in front of his eyes and his lungs are burning from his lack of breath.

“Lou--” is all he manages.

It’s enough because Louis pulls his fingers out slowly, gentles his mouth and eventually lets Harry’s cock slip from between his lips.

Harry’s legs do buckle then, but Louis is there to catch him, prop him up on a nearby ledge. He hasn’t said anything yet, is usually quick to talk after sex too, but before Harry can really process this, the reason becomes apparent when Louis leans in and kisses him. Harry opens up obligingly -- and Louis pushes his own load of come into his mouth.

He rears back on instinct, silly really, because it’s not like he’s never tasted his own come before, but Louis’ hand on the back of his neck keeps him from jerking away.

He swallows, salty bitter taste nothing new, and listens to Louis’ praise as he pulls back, gently kissing Harry’s face and whispering into his skin.

“Open up,” Louis says eventually and Harry’s eyes and mouth open simultaneously. Louis pushes his fingers between Harry’s lips, the ones he’d just used to press on Harry’s prostate.

Harry groans when he tastes Louis’ come on them, sucks them in deep like a starving man, not caring about the rest.

“You’re amazing,” Louis whispers, thrusting his fingers in and out. “Look so, so good for me right now, baby.”

Harry blinks his eyes open, a heavy contentment stealing over him. He could sleep now, feels out of it from coming so hard but Louis’ eyes keep him entranced, redouble his efforts to suck his fingers clean.

“Gonna clean you up now, okay?” Louis presses down on his tongue before letting his fingers go lax. “Gonna clean up all the oil and you’re gonna put your skinnies back on.” He pulls his fingers free and leans in for a searing kiss, snatching away the little breath Harry’s managed to catch. “Not gonna clean up my come though. Gonna leave that right where it is. That way, you can remember me back outside, when Will flirts with you again. That sound good baby?”

Harry looks at Louis for a long moment, lost in the emotion shining deep in his eyes. He traces the sharp angle of Louis’ cheekbones, gently rubs his lips against the edges of his beard.

“Yes,” he says just as Louis reaches back to free his hands from the shirt. “Please.”

They clean up hastily then and head back outside. Surely anyone looking at him will just _know_ , but when he passes a mirror it’s only the dilation of his eyes that’s off, anything else, like the slight tinge to his cheeks could well come from mere excitement or the nippy weather outside.

And it’s easy to talk to everyone, his mind so much clearer than it was before, when he had to keep up pretense with Will, while keeping an eye on Louis.

But even if he doesn’t see Louis now, he still feels him with every step he takes and that’s. Well, it’s weirdly comforting, makes him feel connected with Louis in a way he hadn’t before.

What he’s feeling for Louis these days is like nothing he’s ever felt before. No, this is deeper, better, more. The fact that Louis is clearly just as arse-over-tits for him amplifies everything, brings it full circle.

“-- and after another six months internship, I finally got offered a permanent position.”

Harry tunes back in on Will, nods along to what he’s saying. His mum had clearly put some thought into this, chosen someone who’d appeal to him physically. And it’s not like he dislikes him, even if their only ground for similarities stem from the understanding of how awkward a blind date can really be.

He’s just, well, he pales in comparison to Louis, kind of like listening to good music and then suddenly having it stop. Louis is music, vibrance. Louis fills his life, every last corner Harry has allowed him into and it’s better for it.

He searches him out now, across the room where he’s joking with Fizzy, animated and bright like sunlight.

Harry shifts and smiles into his drink.

“Hey, Will? I haven’t spoken to Fizzy tonight, do you mind if I just go over there for a moment?” He nods in the direction where Louis is wildly gesticulating and feels the pull even more now.

“Of course not,” Will says immediately. “I’ll just get us another drink then.”

Harry nods and smiles, heads over in quick strides before he loses his nerve.

“Harry!” Fizzy nearly shouts the moment they’re in hearing range. “Come tell my idiot of a brother what you think about black and white filters. For photos I mean, not your weird films.”

Harry smiles straight at Louis. “Sometimes, stripping a picture of its colour draws attention to the composition. Colours, especially bright, flashy ones, can distract from the actual focus.”

“See! Harry gets it.”

“If you can’t handle colours,” Louis says, the side of his mouth twitching, “then maybe you and your monochrome loving arse should get off the pot. Real life is in colours, at least for the majority of us. If the composition is good, it should be able to handle some fucking colour.”

“I didn’t know you were this passionate about colour,” Harry says, barely holding back his smirk.

Fizzy rolls her eyes. “He just likes to be oppositional. Because sometimes, my dear brother just likes to stir up shit.” She nods in the direction Harry had come from. “So, how’s your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Louis says, eyes bright, clearly about to stir up some of that advertised shit. “How’s the boyfriend?”

“Oh, you know, he’s fine. Quite wonderful, if I’m honest.” He looks at Louis for just a moment too long. “Not that I’m dating Will, we just met today.”

“Well, that’s _fascinating,_ Curly. Do tell us more. Like does he have a car?”

Fizzy frowns, but Harry gets it. It reminds him of them both snuggled up in front of the telly just the other day, Louis curled into his side and singing along at the top of his lungs to his favourite parts.

“So,” comes Jay’s voice as she joins their little group. “Are you guys ready for the mini golf? It’s such a lovely idea your mum had, Harry, isn’t it? We haven’t played in years.”

Harry nods, smiling at her. His mum had been preparing this brunch for weeks now, the mini golf part an added extra just for their two families.

“Mini golf?” comes Will’s voice. He’s holding out a glass of red wine. Harry takes it, trying not to appear reluctant. It’s a nice thought, but red wine makes him sleepy. “That sounds like fun.”

“It’s a family event,” Louis says, too quickly.

Fizzy elbows him. “I’m sure we can make an exception, right mum?” she asks. Harry knows she thinks she’s doing him a favour, but he really wishes she wouldn’t.

“Oh, I’m sure Anne won’t mind,” Jay says. “I’ll go ask her.”

They watch her leave as a group before Harry dares a glance at Louis. He doesn’t look angry, resigned maybe. Which, Harry notices, is far worse.

Louis has gone along with his decision not to tell their families for weeks now, even though Harry knows his explanations have been weak at best. And while they’ve had fun with it, the last hour included, he knows it can’t last forever, isn’t healthy.

That doesn’t stop the churning in his stomach at the thought though. But maybe it’s time to face his fears. Maybe he’s being dramatic about the entire thing?

Just then, Louis snatches the glass of red wine out of his hand, looks at it, and takes a long sip.

“Rude much?” Fizzy mutters.

Will is looking quite affronted as well, but all Harry feels is warm and fuzzy inside. Louis knows how he falls asleep on the couch after a single glass. Louis _knows_. And he didn’t say anything, but he also helped Harry out, is prepared to take the blame, would rather seem rude than see Harry drink this out of sheer politeness.

Harry loves him, has for quite some time now. Maybe now it’s time he shows it. Maybe now it’s time to tell the others.

Meanwhile, Louis looks unfazed, plays it off easily. “Oh please. We all know Harry here is dying for one of those super fruity drinks. Seems just the type, doesn’t he?” He looks at them before rolling his eyes and mutters, “oh fine!” before stomping off.

He returns a few minutes later and hands Harry a drink. “Banana daiquiri,” he says with a scowl that Harry knows to be all act. He wants to grin, wants to wrap Louis up in his arms and kiss him, wants to let him know he’s ready.

Will, on the other hand, isn’t pleased, like he’s sensing an insult, but can’t quite put his finger on it.

Harry doesn’t care though, gives Louis such a genuinely happy smile that even Fizzy coughs uncomfortably. “Thanks,” he murmurs while bringing the glittery straw to his lips.

“Whatever,” Louis tells him, and Harry just smiles wider.

 

+++

 

Louis pulls into the parking lot, his mind still on the conversation they just had. He feels -- he doesn’t know how he feels right then.

He switches off the engine before turning to Harry. “Ready then?”

Harry doesn’t look like he’s ready at all. He looks nervous and twitchy, hunched up small in the passenger seat of Louis’ car. Louis had managed to get just the two of them into one car, an organisational feat he is still proud of. And then Harry had told him on the way over that maybe today is the day he’d like to tell Anne about them.

About them dating.

Louis slides his palm over Harry’s thigh and at least that garners him eye contact. “What’s the matter? It’s just our families.” And a few other people, but really, they aren’t even worth the mention.

“Yeah but,” Harry covers Louis’ hand with his own, big and warm, “It’s scary.”

“It’s not, love,” Louis tells him with a soft smile. “You’ve just waited so long to do this that now it feels like it’s a big deal when really it isn’t.”

“You aren’t supposed to make fun of my pain.”

“I’m not. I’m making fun of you being weird.”

Harry pouts at him, all stunning cheekbones and pushed out lower lip. “I’m not weird.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Louis laughs, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “I like it. Like you. Like a whole lot.”

“Yeah?”

Louis nods. “God knows why.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s the spirit,” Louis says, voice upbeat. He pats Harry’s thigh for good luck before climbing out of the car.

They walk up to the huge sign with a drawn picture of a family playing mini golf and the prices beneath.

He sees Doris waving at them wildly, Fizzy already walking over. He glances at Harry and lowers his voice to say, “stop biting your lip, love. Makes you look anxious.”

Harry does immediately, giving Louis a chagrined look before turning a full smile on Fizzy.

They get dragged back to the not-so-little group, Will included. His mum starts handing out the golf clubs according to size and generally getting everyone organised. Harry ends up chatting with Will again, but Louis doesn’t even mind. There’s exactly zero sexual attraction from Harry’s side, and Louis trusts him to deal with anything Will throws his way.

He sticks with Ernest mostly, trying to memorise the jokes his brother is telling him. He’s going to regale Harry with them later, already sure he’ll bend over wheezing from half of them.

He gets a bit distracted when it’s Harry’s turn to putt. There’s his long legs just simply everywhere and the way his shirt falls open when he leans forward. There’s the dramatic yet playful way he flings his club into the sand when missing a sure hole, and his pleased smile and impromptu victory dance when he gets a hole-in-one purely by accident.

Both their mums are giggling to each other throughout, sipping red wine out of a thermos flask they brought along. Their game is understandably abysmal because of it, yet they don’t seem to mind, whispering to each other while everyone takes their turn.

All in all, Louis thinks he’s doing quite well, not letting on about his true feelings when it comes to Harry, his excitement at the prospect of them finally telling their families. He’s already congratulating himself on his stealth when Daisy sidles up to him. He snaps his eyes to the ground guiltily, but the image of Harry holding Ernest upside-down and tickling until he shrieks is still burned into his retinas.

“You know,” she says while keeping her eyes on the spectacle. “Maybe you should just take a picture.”

He scowls at her. “Why would I do that?”

That earns him a pitying look and a raised eyebrow before they both return their attention to Harry, who now has Doris on his back too, staggering precariously under their combined weight.

“You’re the best older brother I have, but you aren’t half as good of an actor as you pretend to be.”

“I’m a perfectly respectable actor, thank you very much.”

“Well,” she says testily, “I say you suck because I can see that crush a mile away. You’ve got a tell.”

Louis splutters, “I do not!”

Daisy just snorts, watches Harry be taken down under the combined onslaught of the younger twins. He’s grinning widely through it all, dimples visible even from here. He’s wearing one of his ridiculously expensive shirts and doesn’t even flinch when Ernest points at the huge grass stain it’s now sporting, just rips out some grass and shoves it down the back of Ernest’s t-shirt, who shrieks and immediately launches a counter attack.

“What’s my tell,” he asks, because now that she’s mentioned it he’s got to know.

“You don’t want to know,” she mutters, heading up to take her shot.

“Hey,” Louis says to Phoebe, catching her upper arm as she walks by. “What’s my tell?”

“For when you’re in love?”

In love? Well he maybe wouldn’t go that far, but…

“Yes. Your twin wouldn’t say.”

Phoebe just shrugs. “You get all soft.”

“What?”

“Well I don’t know. You get all gooey, it’s gross. Like we first noticed it when you were around the babies --” she points to the other set of twins, no longer babies but still referred to as such. They’re both currently sitting on Harry, alternating shoving grass down his shirt and tickling him, “it’s like all the muscles in your face stop working except for the ones that spell out ‘awww’, you know? Amplify that, add a soft and dreamy look and a proud smile and there you have it. Your tell for when you are in love.”

“What the fuck, I don’t look like that.”

“Language,” his mum chides. She goes right back to her conversation with Anne like nothing had happened.

Fizzy finally intervenes, tells the heap on the floor to get a move on and take their turn putting. Doris, being the youngest, is the first in line and she’s up and gone in a second, her brother following closely behind.

Harry gets up more slowly, that grin still on his face. Their eyes connect for only a second and Louis can’t help it, gives him a quick little wink just to see his cheeks turn a darker red. Harry shakes out his shirt, tufts of grass sailing to the ground as he tries to look more respectable.

Phoebe punches his arm, far too hard. “See! That’s the fucking look I was talking about.”

“Language!” his mum shouts from all the way across, where Doris is lining up the shot with her help.

Louis rubs his arm, glaring at his little sister. “Should’ve never taught you how to punch,” he mutters.

“Eh,” she says dismissively, skipping towards her twin and linking their arms. “It was Lottie who taught me all the good moves, anyway.”

He sticks out his tongue at her before shouting, “still think you’re a changeling. I’ll prove it someday!”

“Yeah, yeah,” they both say in eerie unison, further proving his point.

For a second it looks like Harry might be heading his way and Louis tries to look inviting without being pushy. He’d love for Harry to come over, even if it’s just to talk about the fact that his twin sisters are clearly devils in disguise.

But Harry takes an aborted step towards him before smiling almost shyly at the ground and following behind the others.

Louis sighs and waits for his turn.

The rest of the game consists of Louis trying to ignore Harry. He’s getting pretty good at it, not even looking in his direction until his mum finally asks him what he keeps looking at in the bushes. He ignores Phoebe laughing at him.

The bum waggling while lining up his shot isn’t even on purpose, he only notices he’s doing it when he hears a very distinctive groan from beside him. His shot goes wide and he immediately glares at Harry for trying to foil his game.

Only Harry doesn’t look like he was trying at all, instead there’s a soft blush on his cheek and he’s back to biting his lip.

Flustered, Louis realises, a smirk forming on his lips.

When it’s his turn again, he makes sure Harry’s eyes are on him. Then he takes his time lining up the shot, shifting his hips, reaching down to reposition the ball and yes, wiggling his bum some more.

Harry looks like he’s standing on coals. Louis tries not to laugh.

He keeps it up throughout the game, only really acknowledging Harry once they’re both on a quick bathroom break at the end of the round. “You’re such a fucking tease,” Harry rasps into his ear from behind, looking at Louis through the bathroom mirror. “You made me lose.”

“Can’t help that you have no self-control.” He tries to turn around but Harry won’t let him, hands bruising on his hips. It’s thrilling when Harry gets like this, so turned on he’s rougher than normal, rubbing himself against Louis’ arse right there in a public toilet.

“‘M only human,” Harry murmurs, sucking the skin of Louis’ neck between his teeth.

Louis lets him, tries to ignore the thrumming in his cock, tries to think a what to do next, how far they can push it without this day ending in complete disaster. But then again, at the rate Harry is going, he’ll only tell them next year. Being caught almost seems like the lesser of two evils.

“Families are outside,” he pants, pushing back against Harry, mostly to tease him but also just to feel him harden. He gets so fucking high off of that feeling, of getting Harry so riled up in no time at all. It’s addictive, the knowledge alone enough to have him biting the inside of his cheek, grab onto the sink and really circle his hips, pressing back hard while Harry’s hot breath caresses his cheek, both their faces flushed in the mirror.

They look good together like this. They should buy a mirror, a big one, and place it right next to his bed.

Louis moans at that thought, arches into Harry and grabs for his curls, needs to feel him everywhere.

“Wanna fuck you,” Harry says roughly, hips already thrusting. “Come on.”

God, yes. Harry fucks like the devil when he’s like this, all teeth and filth and thrusts so deep Louis always feels it in the morning. He wouldn’t dream of saying no, opens his mouth for a yes when -- “d’you have lube?”

Harry’s hips slow, but don’t stop, his gaze uncomprehending before his face falls. “No I -- I mean I thought. This was a family outing...”

“Fuck!” Louis pats down his pockets in a futile attempt. He’s got to get it together, have a packet of lube on him at any time, maybe a condom as well because unlike Harry he just thinks come leaking out of his arse is kinda gross, especially in public.

The door opens and Harry jumps back. It’s too late, the guy isn’t stupid and they look disheveled enough to make it obvious.

The guy is also Will.

“I --”

Louis pats down the front of his shirt where Harry had scrunched it up to get at skin. “Sorry about that mate,” he says. There’s really not much else to do. “Will need you not to tell anyone, yeah?”

Will looks at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open in shock. Louis just about manages not to roll his eyes.

“Will?” Harry asks gently. Louis hadn’t expected him to stay this calm, but he just looks genuinely worried. “You okay?”

“I -- yes. I mean. Your mum just made it sound like…”

Louis shifts. His dick is hard and uncomfortable in his trousers. Thankfully, he knows just how to get Will to leave. “She doesn’t know, and it’ll stay like that, won’t it?” He gets a weak nod in return. “Good. Now. You wouldn’t happen to have any lube on you, would you?”

It’s comical, the way the poor guy opens and clothes his mouth. Then he shakes his head and turns to head outside.

“Hey Will,” Harry calls after him, rummaging in his pocket he extracts a white-gold business card from his club. “Ask for me at the reception. I’ll get you in for free. I’m sorry about all of this. Thank you for keeping it a secret.”

He smiles wide at him, gently pushing him towards the door.

By the time he comes back inside, alone, thank god, Louis is leaning back against the wall, one hand gently stroking over the bare skin of his stomach. “Did you just,” he slides his hand down the front of his trousers, rubbing his dick and moaning extra loud. “Did you, Harry Styles, guy who is always nice and charming, did you just buy off your date with the promise of a free lap dance?”

A flash of concern crosses Harry’s face. “Was I not being nice? I thought I was quite nice.”

Louis pulls him in until he can feel Harry’s bigger body along every curve of his own. “Oh, you were _nice_ alright. But that was almost devious.”

“Is that bad?”

Louis groans and pulls him into the last stall, shoving him against the door while locking it. “I think,” he says, his hands working furiously at the front of Harry’s trousers. “We’ve just discovered a new kink of mine.”

Harry’s eyes darken. “I’d really like to fuck you, you have no idea.”

“Oh, you’re going to fuck me,” Louis says, shoving Harry’s trousers and pants down, getting his fingers around his cock and tugging, hard.

He watches Harry pant for a moment, eyes sliding shut as he bites his bottom lip and groans throatily.

Then he starts shoving his own trousers and pants down, lets them pool around his knees in his haste. He should take them off for more mobility, but he doesn’t really need to spread his legs for what he’s got planned.

Harry has his own cock in hand by the time Louis is done, pumping roughly, his eyes travelling over every inch of Louis’ body.

Louis spins around, face pressed against the cool tile, arse sticking out. “Fuck me.”

Harry’s hand goes to his hip as he comes to stand behind him, thumb digging into his bum cheek almost on autopilot. “No lube,” he reminds him, sounding so unbelievably sad.

Louis spits onto his hand, wraps it around Harry’s cock before guiding him closer. He has to move to the tips of his toes to get the angle right and he doesn’t care. All he wants is to _feel_ Harry right now.

“I can’t fuck you dry,” Harry whispers urgently, body aligning with Louis’, cock finally, _finally_ slipping between Louis’ thighs. Louis presses them together snugly, and then the penny finally drops. “-- oh.”

“Yeah.”

Five points dig into each side of his hip when Harry clamps down hard on his skin and thrusts. Louis pitches forward, the trousers around his knees pushing him off balance. But Harry is pressed firmly against his back now, his cock nudging Louis’ balls before he pulls back and snaps his hips forward again.

He grabs for Harry’s hair, twists enough for a bruising kiss while Harry sets a restless pace.

“More spit,” Louis pants when the drag on his skin feels too tight. While Harry gets his cock wet, Louis spits into his hand and reaches between his thighs. It’s not perfect, far from it, and yet he doesn’t care, wants Harry to get off from fucking his thighs in a toilet stall after Louis beat him at mini golf and Harry fucking bribed a guy to stay silent.

Harry pushes forward again, sets a hard rhythm before reaching around for Louis’ cock. Louis bats his hand away. “No. Want you to concentrate on fucking me.”

“But you. I mean we’re not really --”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

“Louis,” Harry whines, hips bouncing off of Louis’ arse with each hard thrust.

Louis reaches down, wraps his fingers around his cock and starts tugging. “How’s it feel?”

“Warm,” Harry says immediately, fingers sliding up underneath Louis’ shirt. “Soft.”

Louis presses his legs further together, revels in the slapping sounds when skin meets skin. “Is it tight?”

Harry sobs, burying his face in Louis’ neck, tonguing his pulse point while he speeds up, the head of his cock nudging Louis’ balls every other time, just enough to have him biting back a groan. “You’re always so tight for me,” Harry whispers and Louis knows he’s not talking about right now. “Got such a pretty arse, know exactly what to do with it. But when I fuck you -- god, Louis. So fucking good, could come within seconds of pushing in each time.”

Louis speeds up the hand on his own cock. He wants this over quickly, doesn’t want to stop again for them to add more spit, which will have to happen if they drag this out. Quick and dirty, that’s the idea.

“Gonna come soon?” he asks, cheek sliding against the wall at the harshness of Harry’s thrusts. His calves ache and so do his toes but all he really feels is Harry’s hand sliding over his stomach, up to his ribs, wrapping him up and holding him close, pulling him back as Harry’s cock slides between his thighs. “Gonna come inside me?”

“Yeah,” Harry pants, biting down on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis bites his lips, squeezes his hand. “Come inside me without a rubber? Fill me up with your come?”

“Fuck yes,” Harry says, any rhythm lost now as he pushes forward almost violently. “Wanna watch it drip out after.”

Fuck. If Harry’s this into it, they’re going to do it tonight. “Gonna eat me out after, too?”

“Yes,” Harry hisses out between his teeth, clutching Louis close, teeth sliding over his skin. “Always wanna eat you out.”

Louis reaches back, pulls Harry’s head so he can speak right into his ear, “come on baby, want you to come inside me now.”

Harry sobs, fucking forward so hard Louis is getting flattened against the wall. Louis feels Harry’s mouth on his shoulder again and he stretches his neck, inviting. Harry bites down when he comes, clutching Louis’ hips in a bruising grip, teeth digging into Louis’ skin, making Louis’ cock jump in his hand.

Louis feels the wetness between his thighs, Harry pushing through the mess, spreading it around even more and fuck, now he’s imagining it too -- Harry coming inside of him, watching it drip out. Staring for so long in that way of his that he gets hard again, pushes right back in.

Louis’ hand is flying over his cock, the ache from Harry’s bite shooting pings of arousal down his spine and he comes with a muffled shout, legs still clutched tightly together and Harry’s cock nestled in the mess he made.

He’s panting hard, coming down, Harry mostly holding him up right now, gently kissing the skin he bit. “Sorry,” he says softly, lets his tongue trail over the ache. “Didn’t mean to bite you that hard.”

Louis doesn’t mind, not at all, but he can’t let an opportunity like that go to waste. He turns around and mock scowls at Harry. Then he reaches down between his thighs to scoop some of Harry’s come onto his fingers and brings them up slowly, looking at Harry the entire time.

Harry’s eyes darken and he groans the moment Louis pops the fingers into his own mouth, sucking the come off as obscenely as he knows how. It must work because Harry is pushing him back, shoving his own tongue in beside the fingers and licking the taste right out of Louis’ mouth.

Louis pulls his fingers free. “Should’ve told me you liked come play so much. That’s twice in one day now.”

Harry laughs, pressing their lips together. “If I remember correctly you came on my face the very first time.”

“Oh I -- I’d kind of forgotten about that.” And before Harry’s face can fall he reaches up to twine his fingers in his hair. “I mean I remember what happened but. It feels like a different time, you know? Like I’m a different person.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Louis pulls him down for a deep kiss, gently scratching Harry’s scalp and squeezing his neck. “It’s perfect.”

Harry smiles, big and dopey and gorgeous, and Louis’ stomach does that weird floppy thing it usually only does in airplanes. He feels so good standing here in a fucking toilet stall with his boyfriend, giddy with the feelings coursing through him. It’s just kind of big and scary, life-altering and amazing all rolled into one.

“I love you.” It kind of slips out, isn’t really the right place to be saying it the first time, really not at all. But it’s not like he hasn’t been feeling it for weeks now, sick of waiting for the right moment.

Luckily, Harry doesn’t mind. His face brightens even more, grin so wide and beautiful it almost hurts, a physical pain in Louis’ chest. “I love you too.”

He pushes all thoughts aside and lets Harry kiss him again until they’re giggling because it’s all turning a bit gross now, the come starting to dry and _still_ it doesn’t make this moment any less perfect.

“Our families are waiting,” Harry eventually says between kisses.

Louis nods, pushes him back gently and grabs some toilet paper to start cleaning himself up.

By the time they emerge they look mostly presentable again, only the slightest glow to their cheeks that hints at more strenuous activities, at the sheer fucking joy fluttering in Louis’ chest. They join the others sat around a picnic table, the kids mostly full and their mums mostly drunk.

“Did you two go and have another fight?” His mum sounds resigned, like she wouldn’t expect any less from them. Good to know where he gets his theatrics from.

They sit down, leaving space between them and there’s a sharp pang of regret at that. He wants nothing more than to hold Harry’s hand right now, rest his head on Harry’s shoulder and play with his necklace while talking to his family.

And that thought, along with the accompanying bitterness and the sharp contrast of happiness just moments before, scratches at his insides. It makes him reckless, the urge to _change_ it so strong he talks without thinking next. “No, we talked a bit. Gotta be adult, don’t we? Turns out it’s not that hard to get along with Curly here.”

The mirrored smile on both his mum’s and Anne’s face alone is worth it. And he’s just paving the road for when Harry is ready to tell them. Whenever that might be, the bitter part of his brain adds helpfully.

And he should probably leave it at that. He’s told Harry he’d wait for him to be ready. And he will, wouldn’t say it outright even though it takes everything in him to stop shouting it from nearby rooftops.

And he’s always been one to push the envelope, to poke at something -- or someone -- for the mere satisfaction of getting a reaction. He isn’t as reckless as he used to be with this, but it’s still a part of him, probably always will be.

Maybe that’s just an excuse as well, but he wants to plant the idea of _them_ in his mum’s head, wants to show Harry there's really nothing scary about them now. And so he opens his mouth and says, “I’ve invited Harry along to my next charity gala. As my date. He agreed.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, dear,” his mum exclaims happily. “I’d always hoped you’d put that little feud aside.”

Anne is nodding in agreement. Louis can see traces of Harry in that smile and it endears her to him even more.

And then he notices the rigid set of Harry’s shoulders, the determined way he’s staring at the tabletop, completely avoiding eye-contact with anyone else.

Louis frowns, missing Fizzy’s question. She ribs him for it so he tries to concentrate on her, tries to not let his thoughts stray to the darker places of why Harry won’t just come out and tell their families. He understands the reasoning, he does, but it’s also in clear opposition to what his heart is telling him, and that makes it so very confusing, so very difficult to accept Harry’s way of thinking.

Because this isn’t about the thrill of a fake relationship anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time now.

 

+++

 

“You look really good,” comes Harry’s deep voice from behind him.

He turns, gaze tracing the edges of Harry’s suit. “You look --” _magnificent._ In his extravagant suit with bold patterns and colours no one else has dared to go with. He steps closer, brushes Harry’s hand with his own. “You look like a splash of colour in a black and white picture.”

The change is instantaneous, Harry’s dimples suddenly there, faint lines appearing around his eyes. “And here I thought you didn’t like it.”

“Well, that’s just silly, darling.”

Harry shrugs, stands beside him as they both survey the room. Louis hasn’t actually got a tally going, but by feel alone, this charity has outdone all his expectations so far. The auction alone surpassed their goal. Anything he manages to rake in now is just extra.

“Wasn’t sure, what with you trying to yank the suit off me on the ride over.”

Louis sees the Goldsteins heading towards them, both with dignified grey hair and a conservative style, except for how Alexandra’s gown is a deep yellow, drawing the eye like a bird of paradise would, accentuating her every graceful move.

He leans into Harry’s side and whispers, “like you’ve never wanted a blow job in a limousine. That’s not on anyone’s bucket list or anything.”

“Oh, that’s what you were doing,” Harry teases. “Helping me with my bucket list.”

Louis slides in front of him, turning his back to the approaching couple. He reaches up and wipes at the corner of his mouth, not because there’s anything there, but because Harry is just begging to be upstaged. He pops the finger into his mouth and sucks on it languidly, making sure to let his lips go soft and pliant around it.

Harry’s focus immediately narrows and he shifts, like his clothes, flamboyant and lovely but no longer comfortable.

“Stop that,” Harry murmurs just as Louis pulls the digit free with a pop.

After one sweet smile, as innocent as he can make it, Louis turns around, discreetly wiping his finger. “Alexandra! Allen! It’s so good to see you again.”

He shakes Allen’s hand and kisses the back of Alexandra’s, the wrinkly skin dry and perfumed under his lips. She lets out a giggle, never had been one for decorum. Louis can practically feel Harry’s shoulders relaxing from here.

“I want you to meet a friend of mine, Harry Styles. Harry, this is Alexandra Ivashka and Allen Goldstein.”

“Oh, my dear,” says Alexandra easily. “I haven’t used my own surname since the last time I was on stage.”

“Just giving credit where credit is due.”

They turn to Harry, whose smile is almost offensive in how dazzling it is. Neither of them stand a chance.

It’s been like this all evening; Harry gracefully sliding into the role as his date, charming their conversational partners one at a time and always, always succeeding so effortlessly.

Louis starts off with a bit of small talk first. They never had any kids, but there’s always gossip in the art scene and Louis had even made sure to be up to date with all the going-ons in the world of ballet.

Like a dance itself, he weaves in some of their background story, addressing it to Harry and letting them fill in the details.

The attentive look on Harry’s face isn’t fabricated, he’s just genuinely interested in hearing the story of how these two strangers met.

Louis knows that feeling, knows exactly what it’s like when Harry concentrates his entire being on him. For him it’s like he’s attached to a livewire when Harry leans close like that, head nodding slightly. In those moments he feels like the center of Harry’s universe, alive and important.

The furrow to his brow now is another thing Louis knows well from their daily interactions. It’s Harry trying to understand what Louis is saying, what anyone is saying. He doesn’t just listen, which is what most people do, no, Harry tries to understand what Louis is saying from his point of view, not just the words, but the feelings themselves. It has created a closeness between them Louis had never before known even existed.

He’s doing it now, creating this intimate bubble around himself and the Goldsteins and they are putty in his hands. “So wait. If you used to work at the Vaganova Academy,” he stumbles a bit over the name, but no one cares, “and Allen worked as a curator in London, how did you meet?”

Alexandra pats her husband's arm and speaks in a tone of someone who’s told this story a thousand times before, and hasn’t yet grown bored of it. “He was sent to retrieve one of the paintings lost during the war, which one was it?”

“A Klimt, I believe,” Allen adds, indulging, his eyes never leaving her.

“And he came to one of my shows. I might not look like it today, but I was quite the ballerina back then,” she smiles, almost demurely. And apart from maybe Harry, everyone here knows she was more than merely good back then, a star in her field. “Allen must have liked my performance. He came backstage to give me some flowers.”

“I wasn’t the only one with that idea, though. She’d already received five bouquets, far grander than mine, by the time I arrived.” He smiles, the laugh lines around his eyes deepening, so unbelievably happy when he adds, “she still chose me, though.”

Louis has heard this story several times already, so while it’s nothing new, he’s still charmed by it each time. Harry on the other hand, is already clutching his hand to his chest, his eyes wide.

Alexandra looks at her husband before turning to Harry and whispers, “he always said I was the greatest piece of art he ever found.”

Harry’s expression goes from mildly charmed to full out teary-eyed in half a second. Louis places a calming hand on his lower back, smiling when Harry gives him a wobbly-lipped smile.

“Still do, my love,” Allen assures her. “I still do.”

At this point, Harry looks like he really might be tipping over the edge, smiling at them both damply.

Without breaking the spell, Louis allows himself to gently steer the conversation in the direction of the charity drive, giving Harry a moment to collect himself.

“They’re my heroes,” Harry says when they head onto the dance floor, Alexandra’s gown trailing behind her.

“They seemed to like you, too. Promised a rather big donation, didn’t they?”

“Amazing,” Harry says, looking after them longingly. “Their story. I mean, it’s part of history.”

Louis has had far more time to get used to the story, to understand while it is lovely, parts were no doubt embellished to fit their narrative. “It’s just because they are really old.” Harry’s face does something very comical and Louis is quick to elaborate. “I didn’t mean it like _that_. I meant they have a lot of history, world history, to give their own story a nice backdrop.”

“Well yes. She danced at one of the biggest ballet schools in the world. He worked in London, but gave it all up to be with her. That alone is amazing. The part about the painting, that’s just fluff, isn’t it? Good fluff, but still. I mean this is better than The Notebook.”

The sound Louis makes when he sucks in a sharp breath is rather comical itself. “You did not just say that. And also, Mr. Fluff, he didn’t give up his work.” Mock outraged at Harry’s opinion or not, he still presses against his lower back gently until they’re both walking across the room. It’s best to be seen moving at all times he has learned, give the onlookers the idea that, whatever he’s up to, he’s making progress. “He still worked as a curator in St. Petersburg. He just moved to another city.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. He left everything behind. Turned his back on the world he knew, just to be with her.”

Louis just looks at him. He doesn’t agree, thinks Harry is being a bit melodramatic. But there’s nothing to gain to persuade him otherwise, so Louis leaves it be. Harry seems to enjoy his romantic explanation much more anyway, he wouldn’t want to deprive him of that simple pleasure.

All in all, the evening turns out to be a complete success, both for the charity itself and for Harry’s unofficial debut as his date. There’s only a minor hiccup when the Whitakers, a young married couple in their early twenties, both of them trust-fund babies, start digging into Harry.

First it had been polite questions about his profession he’d fielded easily. But when he’d told them he planned certain upscale events, they’d wanted to know more. Louis should have warned him, should have told him how they were notorious partygoers, how they knew pretty much anyone with some standing in the event business.

And soon they were comparing notes on the best DJ in town, a guy Harry knew personally. In fact, he knew almost everyone they mentioned, and while it impressed them enough to promise _another_ sizeable donation, Harry had clammed up half way through, like it had just dawned on him that he was talking to these people about parts of his actual life.

He’d steered the conversation away from any potential pitfalls after that and thankfully, it hadn’t put a damper on the entire evening.

“Well done,” Louis says once they have said their goodbyes to near everyone that had attended the gala. They’re back in the ballroom now, watching the band pack up and calling goodbyes to the last stragglers. “That was some seriously skilled social manoeuvring I just witnessed. Don’t think I’ve ever been this smooth myself.”

Harry glows, from his accomplishment or the realisation that Louis’ world maybe isn’t quite as foreign to him as he might have thought. “Wow,” he says slowly. “That was fun.”

The laugh that escapes Louis is high and happy. “You were amazing, love. It’s like you were made for this.”

Harry beams, that newfound confidence settling around him easily. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. Certainly knocked me off my feet. And you weren’t even directing that at me. All that charm, I mean.”

“Think I’m charming, do you?” Harry says with a smile. After a quick look around -- they’re mostly alone, the people around them not paying them any attention -- he pulls Louis in close, bodies touching from head to toe.

“People will see,” Louis mumbles against his lips, closing his eyes to make sure he feels every point of contact between them.

“Let them,” Harry tells him.

And then they’re kissing, chaste, just a press of lips on lips. But the kiss lingers, conveying to any onlookers that this is far, far more than a quick, innocent peck. For all its chasteness, this might just be the most revealing kiss of Louis’ life.

“Stop grinning when I kiss you,” Harry huffs. He pulls back but it's okay, because that moment will be burned into Louis’ mind until the day he dies. Quite possibly even longer than that.

“Make me,” Louis says, just to be a shit.

But as so often before, Harry surprises him. “I’m ready. Like for good this time. We should drive to my mum and tell her. Right now.”

“Right now? It’s nine in the evening.”

Harry shakes his head, grinning broadly. “Doesn’t matter. She won’t mind. And it,” he gestures between them, “ _we_ , we work, don’t we?”

Louis’ grin, along with his pounding heart, seems equally out of control. “We do work. Perfectly, if you ask me.”

Harry nods in agreement and happy elation. “I -- I knew that.” He takes a deep breath while he collects himself and Louis just clutches him harder. “I was afraid, you know? Afraid that my background would interfere with yours somehow, I don’t know, tarnish it in some way.” Louis opens his mouth, but Harry just keeps going, like he needs to get this all out in one go. “But tonight showed me it won’t be a problem. These people don’t know me, they don’t know my work. And I have the ability to adapt when I’m here, at least enough to fit in. It’s -- it’s time we told our families, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Louis can’t help it, that giddy feeling exploding in his chest. He hugs him close and whispers hoarsely into the fabric of his shirt. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He’s so happy in this moment he’s afraid his heart might break out of his ribcage, feels like maybe wings are about to sprout from his back. He can’t wait for this secret to be out in the open, for them to go on normal dates without having to drive to some obscure restaurant just to make sure they don’t run into anyone they know. He doesn’t want to censor himself, wants to be able to reach out and touch Harry, regardless of who’s around them.

It feels like this moment in time marks the happiest he’s been in, well, ever. He’s here with Harry and hope, that pesky construct he’s been holding on for weeks now, that has finally paid off.

Louis entwines his fingers with Harry’s as they head out to the car, laughing and completely unable to pull each other in for a kiss every few steps.

He should have known, though. Should have known that no man would ever feel this ecstatic for very long, like the human form simply can’t contain that much happiness for too long.

For Louis, it lasts until they’re halfway to Anne’s home before it shatters with the innocent sound of Harry’s phone ringing.

 

+++

 

“Just read it to me,” Louis pleads, turning the windscreen wipers up to the highest setting. He still can’t see for shit, the rain a sheet of grey that dissolves the street in front of him into misty nothingness a few meters in.

Harry doesn’t say anything, sits frozen next to him, the shock written clearly across his face. Louis can’t really look at him, afraid if he takes his eyes off the road he’ll drive into a ditch. He can make out Harry’s fingers clutching his phone in his periphery, the knuckles white and shaking.

“Baby,” Louis says sharply, still facing forward. “Talk to me.”

“Don’t want to,” Harry mumbles but at least it’s a reply, at least it’s _something._

Headlights appear out of nowhere and Louis can just make out the other driver as he passes, both of them leaning forward and trying to make sense of the road ahead. He tries to ignore the annoying sound of the wipers on the highest setting, the pace just increasing the beat of his heart.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” Louis complains. He’s crawling along this fucking country road at one third of the speed limit and still he can’t tell tits from arse out there.

“I know,” Harry whispers and something in his voice makes Louis chance a look over. Tears are silently streaming down Harry’s face, his gaze still fixed on his phone, screen long since gone dark.

The road widens into a tiny shoulder on the narrow road and Louis pulls over without a second thought. He turns off the car but leaves the lights on, hopes desperately no other driver will somehow overlook them.

The wipers shut off and the inside of the car is filled with the distinct absence of the repetitive sound. The rain pelting on the bonnet and roof seems more amplified all of a sudden and Louis wonders if the roads will flood. It’s not unlikely, judging by how it’s pouring down.

“Right,” he says, one by one unclenching his fingers from around the steering wheel. He flexes his hands before reaching over and grabbing the phone from Harry’s unresisting hand. He enters Harry’s code, a news article appearing on screen. Louis scrolls up and flies over it quickly, words like _new age entrepreneur_ , _oldest profession in the world, Halo, the angel kink you never knew you had_ jumping out of at him. And the author. _Nathan Flemmings._

“I know that name,” he mutters. Harry is still not looking at him, curled against the door as if being in Louis’ mere present is causing him pain. “Isn’t that that one guy, the one that kept asking you out?”

Harry nods, saying under his breath, “makes much more sense now. Why he kept coming around. Why he kept talking to everyone.” He looks at Louis with wide eyes and Louis’ heart breaks because that, that is the look of someone’s trust breaking. “Why he kept asking me out. Why he -- he was so _nice_.”

“He’s an arsehole!” Louis hopes the vehemence in his voice can make Harry understand, can convince him. “You don’t post this sort of article without running it by the person you’re writing it about!”

Harry shakes his head, like Louis’ words don’t even register. “The article isn’t bad. And we can’t really do much about this sort of thing. Once it’s out there --” he looks at Louis again, eyes brimming with tears. “It’s all out now.”

Louis scowls and scrolls further because he’s angry about the article itself, sure, about the unexpectedness. But Harry is acting -- almost apathetic, like something much worse has happened and he’s actually in shock.

Louis must be missing something and so he scans the article further until something else catches his eyes.

_young up-and-coming self-starter, Harry Styles._

“It doesn’t matter,” Louis says immediately, even before very, very carefully placing down Harry’s phone. “We were gonna tell them anyway. It _doesn’t_ matter.”

Harry shakes his head, curls with more of a frizz than usual dangling sadly around his face. “Not like this.” He looks at Louis then, and Louis almost wails at the confusion and _pain_ he sees there. He doesn’t want that expression on Harry, not now or ever again, feels tainted for having witnessed it at all. What’s worse, he has no fucking idea how to make this go away, how to take away that sadness and have his happy, smiling Harry back. Another tear escapes Harry’s eye, but his voice doesn’t get louder than a whisper, “not if _everyone_ knows. They all -- they all _know_ , Louis. They’ll stop donating, your charities they’ll -- oh my _god._ And all because of _me_.”

“No!” It’s very nearly a shout and Harry flinches so hard Louis almost starts crying with him, right then and there. But he can’t, he mustn’t. He has to be Harry’s rock now, has to be Harry’s voice of reason, has to guide them through this storm -- whatever the fucking metaphor, he _has_ to be the strong one now. Because Harry can’t. Not right then.

Louis doesn’t even know he’s been struggling with the seat belt until it finally unfastens. He clambers over into Harry’s lap, clutches his face urgently. “Look at me,” he says, commands, because this is fucking important, this needs to end _now._ “This isn’t your fault. And so what, then people know your name, know you own Halo. It does not matter. It’s just a silly article no one will read. And those who do will see what you did, what you built out of nothing. They’ll love it. And if there's anyone who doesn't, you know what? They can bloody well bite me!”

Harry has started shaking his head, like he’s not accepting Louis’ words at all, won’t even consider them. Louis want to shake some sense into him, wants to _make_ him believe, wants that horrible, devastated expression off his face.

They stare at each other for a long time, Louis trying to convey with his eyes what he’s messed up with his words.

“I love you,” Harry chokes out. It’s like a dam breaking, because he crumples in Louis’ hands, dissolves into loud, sobbing tears and Louis never thought he would hate those words coming from Harry’s lips but he does now because they’re causing pain and discomfort instead of being a source of strength.

He tries to quiet Harry down, tries to get him to take deep breaths, but it’s like he can’t reach Harry at all and he feels so fucking useless, so _helpless_ that his first instinct is to punch the window. He wants to break the glass just to prove to himself that he can, show that he still has control over _something_.

He doesn’t though, just wraps Harry up in a hug and rocks him gently. Harry doesn’t hug him back, arms awkward between, but he buries his face in Louis’ neck. He’s shaking, the sobs wracking his body too extreme to be caused by this situation alone. No, this is one of Harry’s biggest fears just come to life, this is why he had been so reluctant to make their relationship public.

And Louis doesn’t understand it, not really. Doesn’t want to, because suddenly his own fears join in and his heart fucking _clenches_ , he can’t breathe because now all he can think of is losing Harry, losing him over something like this, and suddenly his eyes are wet, too, his touch going from comforting to desperate.

He doesn’t know how long it takes, just counts the seconds between one of Harry’s hiccuping sobs to the next, his count increasing over time until Harry stops completely. The overpowering sound of the rain’s onslaught against the windows fills the inside of his car, a static dampness in the air almost drowning out the desperate way they’re both trying to breathe normally again.

“Better?” Louis is clutching Harry’s face, trying to get him to look up, look at him. Harry’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, face blotchy and Louis wipes his wet cheeks clean, kisses him softly there.

Harry doesn’t answer, nods instead but doesn’t look up.

“I can’t do this Harry, you have to talk to me, look at me, something. Please, baby. _Please,_ don’t shut me out like this.”

Seemingly a monumental effort, Harry inches his gaze upwards while his mouth forms words -- no a word, only there is no sound, but Louis can read it, reads the _sorry_ on his lips and watches a fresh wave of tears spill down Harry’s cheeks, far less violent than the previous one.

And he doesn’t know what to fucking do, doesn’t know how to change this, not like he normally would. The situation is what it is, they are who they are and he’s fine with it, he doesn’t fucking _care,_ only Harry does, and Harry is different with how he thinks. It gives him that wonderful mind that solves problems so creatively, it lets him see the good in people that really need it. Only life has also shown him the bad sides of humanity and that same creativity, that amazing out-of-the-box thinking is now turned onto himself and he doesn’t see a way out.

Louis feels suddenly disconnected from him, the realisation that sometimes other people _can’t_ be persuaded with argument one he really, _really_ doesn’t want to have right now.

“I’m going to drive us home now,” he tells Harry, voice raw. He sounds so sure, even if he doesn’t feel it and that only makes him feel like a fraud. “And then we’re going to talk this through, okay?”

He waits for an answer, but all he gets eventually is a soft nod instead, and it’ll have to do, it’s better than nothing, right?

In the end, he clambers back into the driver's seat, arguing that Harry will talk to him once he feels better, and there’s no place to make him feel more comfortable than his own home.

He reaches out, gives Harry’s hand a comforting squeeze before pulling back onto the road and concentrating on getting them home safely.

They’re almost at Harry’s place, when he says in a flat voice, “can we go to your place, please?”

Louis wants to ask why, wants to shout at Harry to look at him, to stop staring out the side window with a distant look in his eyes because it fucking scares him half to death seeing Harry this apathetic and inanimate.

“Yes, of course,” he says instead, softly, and doesn’t take the next right turn to Harry’s place.

 

+++

 

God, he’ll miss this.

Miss the stretch of Louis’ fingers and cock, miss the way he can push his own face into the pillow when he’s lying on his belly like this, how he can bite down on the cotton when Louis pushes deep and hits his prostate.

He’s doing so now, slow, feels like they’ve been fucking for hours, ever since driving home it that nightmare of a rainstorm, ever since Harry had asked Louis to fuck him, not saying please this time but begging him with his eyes regardless.

He’ll miss Louis’ laboured breathing, forehead pressed against Harry’s shoulder, dipping down to kiss his skin from time to time, between moving his hips so wonderfully and whispering into Harry’s ear; how good he feels, how lovely he is.

Harry mostly blocks those words out today, doesn’t feel like he’s worthy of them at all because he fucked up bad with Nathan, should have known about reporters and how to handle them. But he hadn’t, had always put it off because there were so many other things that needed his attention more urgently and now it has cost him the best thing in his life.

Harry buries his face in the pillow, hides the tears spilling down his cheeks. Fuck, he’s going to miss Louis so much, shouldn’t even be allowing this right now, but he’s weak, needs this before he can go. He concentrates on Louis moving against his back, _inside_ of him, all around, and commits it all to memory.

He turns his head again, sees Louis’ hand next to his face, sees it slide under his even thrusts, fingers digging into the duvet, palm slipping before he repositions. He loves Louis’ hands, thinks he’ll miss them particularly and he tucks his face back into the pillow, afraid Louis will see the sorrow on his face.

And it _is_ sorrow he feels, bone-achingly deep and endless. But it’s a done deal now, he just has to be strong enough to call it quits before it all burns down around them. Louis’ life is based around his charities, he raises money for people, for children in need. What kind of monster would Harry be to choose his own feelings and desires over _that_? Over the happiness of _that many people_. He wouldn't just end up hating himself, because it would destroy Louis, too, and slowly, subtly, he’d start resenting Harry for it.

And Harry can’t stand those thoughts, doesn’t want them near him, could never be the one responsible for that. And that’s why his decision is already made for him. That’s how he knew, from the moment he saw the article. He has to leave Louis even if it breaks his heart.

Tears well up again because _fuck_ , it’s not like he wants to leave _._ That’s the absolute last thing he wants.

Louis leans in, breath tickling the back of Harry’s ear. “Want to change position, love?”

Harry shakes his head, croaks, “no,” without turning to squint back. The gravel in his voice can't totally be attributed to being turned on, but he doesn’t think Louis notices, distracted himself.

He arches when Louis nips his neck, pushes deep, has so much love for Louis that his body responds even if his heart lies shattered in pieces, leaving behind bittersweet feelings that settle deep in his bones.

He rubs his face clean and turns his head, moans when Louis readjusts, speeds up.

“Close?” Louis asks against his skin and Harry nods. A dull pleasure has taken root in his groin, expanding ever outwards. “Need my hand?”

“No. ‘M fine like this,” he whispers and slides his hands next to Louis’.

Louis laces his fingers between Harry’s, slots them together like puzzle pieces and Harry almost has to hide his face again, concentrates on his impending orgasm instead.

The build is slow, like he’s holding himself back, doesn’t want this to be over. But his body betrays him eventually, cresting into an orgasm that sets him awash in a sea of satisfaction and sadness alike. He gasps through it, wills himself not to cry and manages just long enough for Louis to come before the tears are back.

He hides them but Louis catches on eventually, kissing the parts of his face he can reach, shushing him gently, saying, “it’s okay babe. I love you so much. We’ll be fine, we’ll get through this. Together.”

And Harry nods and cries harder at the lie, wishing with all his heart it were true.

 

+++

 

Harry has been gone for five days now.

Not on vacation, not to be with his mum or his sister, no, just gone back to the life he’d had before Louis.

Not a single article of clothing, not his toothbrush, not even any food he’d brought over in Louis’ fridge remains, all cleared out while Louis was up in Manchester, nothing but a short note left for Louis.

 _Better this way_ and _I’m so sorry_ and _please don’t call_.

Louis knows the damn thing by heart because he’s read it so much, balled it up in anger only to smooth it back out later.

He’d called, of course he had. But Harry had just picked up the phone and told him flatly that he no longer wanted them to date. Then he’d hung up.

Of course, Louis could now wallow in self-pity, doubt himself somehow because of Harry’s rejection.

He isn’t _that_ stupid.

Harry, the utter fucking _idiot_ , thinks he’s protecting him. Thinks because people know he owns a strip club -- and honestly, there’s a reason why people call sex for money the oldest profession in the book -- people will somehow judge him, Louis, differently.

Louis wants to strangle him. Or spank him. Whatever. Fuck, it’s been too long without Harry, and he’s gotten used to a certain amount of sex over the last few months. He’s horny and angry and sad and he can’t help his thoughts from drifting.

Also there’s the fact that he’s cold at night, misses waking up to Harry still snuggled in the comforter, the way he smiles at the first sip of tea in the morning, the way he just lets Louis jam his cold feet under his legs when they’re watching a movie without even complaining once.

“You’re an idiot,” Louis says when Harry peeks out from behind the chained door, sleep tousled and confused.

“Go away, Louis,” he says in a voice that’s filled with so much emotion Louis really is about to strangle him.

“I’m not going away until you stop being an idiot!”

“I’ve made my choice,” Harry says, pushing the door closed.

Louis leans against it. “I love you.”

Harry doesn’t say anything but Louis hears the hitch in his breath.

“Please,” Harry says wretchedly. “Please, just go.”

“You wanted me, _you_ said yes. Now you got me. Fucking deal with it.”

Through the crack in the door Louis can see Harry shake his head. “Had you,” he _lies_ , worst liar on the planet. “Can’t have you anymore.”

“You know what’s funny about that? It’s that you _can_. Unlike all the other people, the ones that want my money, my name, my connections, unlike all of _them_ , you actually want me. And I want you, and I want you to have me. Only I get to make that choice, Harry. No one else. So don’t fucking tell me you can’t have me because I’m here, telling you you _can.”_

Louis takes a deep breath, willing away the tears now.

“I accept you. Just the way you are, flaws and quirks and horrible taste in shirts, I accept it all. Including your job. I accept you aren’t proud of it, but I know you’re wrong because you built something out of nothing and how many other people can say the same? I sure can’t. It was luck and connections for me, you actually did it yourself. And it’s okay if you can’t see it yet. Because I want to spend the rest of my life showing you you’re wrong.”

There really is a sob from behind the door now. Harry whispers something and then pushes the door shut.

Louis lets him, can’t really do much else. He does find a piece of paper though. Scribbles _i love you_ on it and pushes it under Harry’s door before leaving.

 

+++

 

“They won’t let me in at the club,” Louis says, voice dull. “It’s been two weeks now.”

Niall sighs, pets the cat in his lap until it purrs so loudly Louis has trouble hearing his own thoughts. Maybe he really needs a cat, he’s so sick of thinking. “He’s miserable.”

“He’s a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. “But good luck convincing him of that. He’s either moping around at work, or in front of his TV.”

“He hardly gets through an entire movie without complaining that he’s bored, what’s he doing in front of his TV?”

“Beats me,” Niall says, leaning over and placing a small grey cat, kitten, whatever, into Louis’ lap. “That’s Pepper. She needs extra attention.”

Louis looks at her big, green eyes. He isn’t much of a cat person, mainly because they never really had any animals when he was growing up. But it’s easy to stroke her soft fur, scratch behind her ears until she’s rumbling in his lap, sharp little claws digging into his jeans rhythmically. “Why,” he asks softly. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s sad. Her sister went to a new home yesterday. They were close.”

That saddens Louis, an emotion he’s really gotten used to over the last few days. “Poor thing. Were you left behind as well, then?” He strokes under her chin, feels her little body vibrate under her purring and falls a tiny bit in love.

“You wouldn’t, like --” Niall looks shifty. “You wouldn’t like, be able to take her for a week or so? Just, I need to find her a place, and the bigger cats don’t really like her much.”

Louis looks at her, at the way her tail wraps around his wrist. And he knows Niall is playing on his emotions, knows it’s a set up and still he doesn’t care.

“I’ll take her.”

 

+++

 

Pepper _hates_ the elevator, is scared of the rest of the house and hides under his couch for hours. Louis just lies down on the shaggy flokati rug and talks to her, tells her all about Harry.

“It’s tough,” he says to the blinking slits of eyes, the only thing he can make out. “Being in love with an idiot, you know?”

She doesn’t answer, which Louis appreciates. Everyone keeps telling him what to do, how to feel and what to think. Pepper just -- listens. Gives him time to organise his thoughts while not feeling like a complete idiot talking out loud to himself.

“He thinks he’s protecting me, you know? And no matter what I tell him, he won’t believe me when I say there’s nothing to protect me from.”

He’s silent then, thoughts running a mile a minute. He slowly sticks his hand under the couch, doesn’t touch Pepper, just lets her know he’s there. She starts purring soon after and he does nudge her then, strokes a finger down her crouched spine and listens to her turn up the volume to a deep rumble.

“You’re right,” he says softly. “Telling people stuff is worth shit. You can talk and talk and talk at them all day. But what really works, is showing them.”

He gives her chin another scratch before slowly pulling back, plan falling into place in his mind.

“Take your time, come out when you want,” he tells her while he gets up. “I’m just gonna go to the kitchen. I have this urge for a tuna sandwich.”

Twenty minutes later he’s got Pepper on his lap, belly round and full of tuna while she dozes under his gentle strokes.

Louis just smiles down at her and waits for Niall’s WhatsApp reply.

 

+++

 

“Can you close up?”

Harry isn’t even addressing anyone directly, but it’s Cameron who sighs, “yeah. Leaving early again?”

Harry nods, not looking at any of them. “Yeah. I’ve got. Well, got things to do.”

“Mope around at home,” Cameron says, a bite to his tone.

Harry doesn’t reply, just shrugs and goes to stare at the in-tray that’s overflowing in the office.

After fifteen minutes of this, of sitting in his chair and looking at his table with unfocused eyes and feeling sorry for himself, he gets a text from Louis.

When he opens their chat it’s just two weeks of Louis talking and Harry not responding. He doesn’t plan to start replying now.

_unless you tell me otherwise i’m telling my family about us_

Well. Not much to tell them anymore, is there?

So Harry locks his phone and goes back to staring at his desk, waiting until he can finally head home

 

+++

 

It’s Sunday dinner and Louis has invited his entire family over. Since it’s school tomorrow, they’re having dinner at six so the twins can get home and into bed in time.

“So,” he says to a table dissolved into chaos. There’s a fork in his mum’s full wine glass and his brother is trying his best to dislodge the pea he’s stuffed up his nose by holding the other side closed and blowing really hard. The results are a bit disgusting, but when the pea finally plonks onto the table everyone cheers, happy it doesn’t spell another trip to the emergency room.

He clears his throat. “So. I’m dating Harry Styles.”

The table goes silent, most of his sisters smirking like it’s a genetic mutation or something. His mum just sits there flabbergasted, Doris in her lap because she’d been in a cranky mood all day and likes special treatment then.

“I knew it!” His mum shouts, hands punching the air. “I _knew_ I have some secret cupid abilities.”

“Before you pat yourself on the back too hard, maybe you’d like to let me finish first?”

His mum’s face falls instantly. “Oh no, honey. What did you do?”

“Nothing! He’s being an idiot.”

“Perfect match, then,” Phoebe mutters from beside him. He throws his napkin at her.

And then, he really does manage to silence the entire table by saying, “he owns a club, you know. A strip club.”

The silence is only broken when Ernest looks up, a single pea speared on his fork in triumph. Louis desperately hopes it isn’t the one that’s been up his nose. “What’s a strip club?”

His mum sighs heavily and shoots him an accusing glare. He’s very glad he doesn’t have to be there for the explanation of this.

“I thought he was gay?” Fizzy frowns before amending her own sentence, “well, I guess that has nothing to do with it.”

“It’s pretty gay,” he tells her. “Very tasteful though, you know? And it’s themed, they wear wings. All very pretty.”

“Harry owns _Halo?_ ” Lottie nearly shouts. “I had my bachelorette party there!”

“Oh, yes, that’s right, I remember you told me about that,” his mum says. “Pity you weren’t allowed to take pictures.”

Louis vaguely remember a bachelor party and talk of strippers but he’d been off in some other city at the time and honestly, didn’t much care either way.

“Yes and if you’re all done, I’ll just finish my story, yeah?” He gets a lot of eye rolls for that, does the same in return. “This guy wrote an article about him, basically praising him to high heaven. And now he thinks people will find out and it’ll influence _me_ negatively. So now he thinks he’s doing the right thing by breaking up with me.”

There’s silence for a solid second before the table erupts into loud chatter.

“And that is why,” Louis shouts over the ruckus, “I need your help.”


	6. Chapter 6

There’s a not-so-soft knock on his door, Cameron pushing it open moments later. “Hey boss-man? D’you think you could pull yourself away from your wallowing and come downstairs?”

“Why?”

Cameron shoulders his was inside and walks around the small office, scrunching his nose at the mess.

Well, no one asked him to barge in here.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to run your business.”

“I do all my work. Everything that needs doing gets done.”

“You do the barest minimum. You’ve never been the type of guy to just do what needs doing.”

And okay, maybe Cameron has a point there. But these days, it’s difficult to drag himself out of bed in the morning. Putting in that extra effort is beyond him at this point in time. “Did something happen?”

“Well, sort of.”

Sort of? Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Harry gets up and tries to put his game-face on. He just hopes it doesn’t involve the police again since he isn’t at all sure if he could bear that today. If he breaks down in front of his staff, they’ll soon face different problems altogether.

They head downstairs, Harry’s slightly trudging footsteps highlighted by Cameron’s easy ones.

He braces himself when they round the corner, imagines a bar fight that encompasses the entire main floor, his mind clearly set to worst-case scenario mode.

But at first glance, everything looks completely normal. It’s a weeknight, yet they’re packed like it’s a Friday or Saturday. That in itself, while wonderful, isn’t really news-worthy though.

If one of his dancers sprained his ankle again, Harry might just break down after all. It happened to Charlie once, who had hopped off the stage and landed wrong. The sprained ankle hadn’t only been clearly painful and involved Harry rushing him to the hospital, but he’d also been out of commision for nearly a month. Beside not wanting his employees in pain, he’s just finished writing up the schedule for next week, he doesn’t want to redo that, or rush anyone anywhere, for that matter.

But then he looks more closely, looks at the customers around the main stage, their shouts louder and with a different pitch to what he’s used to.

They do get some woman customers in here sometimes, of course they do. But he’s never seen a group as big as this one before.

He blinks because -- well, he _knows_ these people. Not all of them, but there’s Jay and Lottie, standing right up close to the stage. Fizzy is here as well. He knows this because she’s just stuffing some money down Thomas’ pants, a gleeful look on her face.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he asks, turning to Cameron. Only Cameron isn’t there anymore, replaced with -- “Mum?”

“Hello, darling,” she says softly before pulling him in for a hug. Something inside Harry crumbles at the feel of his mum’s arms around him. He clutches her close and tries not to cry. These days, it doesn’t take a lot to set him off. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

And God, it’s sad how he doesn't even know what she’s talking about because there’s _so much_ he hasn’t told her recently. “‘Bout what,” he mumbles, only it’s pretty loud because the sound system is turned way up and the women around the stage are just adding to the general cacophony with their shrieks of delight. He pulls her to the back of the club, main stage still in sight but the acoustics of the room helping to dampen the sound.

“That you’re dating Louis.”

And shit, that hurts. Just hearing Louis’ name is like a razorblade dragged across his heart, a pain so sharp he has trouble breathing. He’d thought he was getting better, thought he was getting over Louis. The ache in his chest is just as vivid as before though, and his throat closes up almost immediately. “We aren’t dating anymore,” he chokes out eventually.

“Don’t be silly now,” she tells him in her no-nonsense voice. “He took me out to lunch the other day, lovely boy, by the way.”

“You -- you had lunch with Louis?” And he’s so confused right now, because in between all the hurt, there’s another emotion now. Jealousy. The fact that he doesn’t know which one of the two he’s jealous of just makes this entire experience that much more surreal.

She nods. “He told his mum about what happened between you two, and she told me.”

And Harry isn’t really surprised, had pretty much expected it since Louis sent him that text. It saved him from having to explain it to his mum himself, something he hadn’t really felt capable of.

“Then you know we’re over. I ended it when that article came out.”

“Yes,” his mum says, slowly, like she’s weighing her words carefully. “I showed that article to my new friends, the girls from my group chat, you know? The Knitting Needles, I’m sure I’ve told you about them.”

Harry’s blood runs cold and he grabs her arm. Those women, they’re the ones his mum has met during her recent climb through the ranks of high society. The sort of women, who are friends with Jay, who donate to Louis’ charities.

“Don’t look so glum. And do let go of my arm, thank you darling.” She pats his shaking hand and continues, “Louis told me all about how you thought you’d single-handedly destroy his charity work just by owning a strip club.” She takes his clammy hand in hers and gives them a squeeze. “And look, I won’t lie to you. Some are outraged, some have even stopped giving Louis their support.”

Harry tries to swallow but can’t, his throat not letting him. He stands there breathing through his open mouth instead. This is what a fish out of water must feel like, he thinks, gulping in air and not feeling it bring relief to his burning lungs.

This is exactly what he had feared, what he had tried with all his might to stop from happening. Not only has he managed to fuck up their relationship, but now others are paying the price as well. He feels like the biggest arsehole in existence.

“But the rest,” his mum says, squeezing his hand again, a slight look of worry on her face at his expression. “The rest don’t mind.”

“They -- what?”

“They don’t mind, darling.”

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not possible.”

His mum just smiles and nods in the direction of the women by the main stage. “They really, really don’t mind.”

Harry looks from them to his mum and back again. Kieran has joined Thomas on stage and it seems he’s quickly becoming a crowd favourite. Harry feels dumb, but all he can come up with in regards to what his mum just told him is another, “what?”

“After I showed the girls that article about you, I invited them to check out the club. All except for two came.”

That in itself is amazing. And with all his personal drama, he must have completely missed the part where his mum had actually managed to reach her goal, be a recognised figure within that group, one that certainly has a voice, judging by the attendance tonight.

“What you failed to realise in all those doom-and-gloom stories that happened in your head,” his mum tells him gently, “is that Louis isn’t the only one responsible for his charities. His mum did that job long before him and she knows everyone who continually contributes. She’s publically spoken out in your favour. The few people that didn’t accept it right away, will soon. They might not like it, but if there’s anything I’ve learned over the last couple of months, it’s that there’s a certain hierarchy that is observed. They will fall in line, or they will be replaced with others.”

Harry thinks about that for a moment because he can’t quite wrap his mind around that other thing. “That’s kind of savage.”

His mum laughs. “It is! Why do you think I’m having so much fun?” She winks at him. “These people all have money. What they can’t buy, not completely at least, is social standing. They’ll hype up your club for a few more weeks and then it’ll just become another sidestory no one really cares for.” She holds up her hand and whispers conspiratorially behind it, “trust me, you owning a gay strip club doesn’t even make the top ten of weird things I’ve been told in the last few months.”

Harry just stands there, still unable to parse all this new information.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to, because his mum is here and he feels six again, feels like his mum is invincible, always knows exactly what to do. All he experiences is gratitude when she tells him, “you should go home now, darling.”

“I -- what? Why?”

She smiles at him gently while brushing a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. “Go home and talk to him. He’s waiting.”

Something churns in his belly, excitement and fear all rolled into one. Whatever his mum has done here, the people she’s fired up to show their support, it doesn’t make up for how he behaved, how he treated Louis. It doesn’t automatically mean they will be together again.

He tries to squash the little flame of hope that has flared to life somewhere deep inside his chest. He knows he is fragile right now, another blow might actually damage him irreparably.

But he’s also been moping for days, swaying between bouts of self-pity and more lucid moments, when he recognises that he’s brought this on himself, at least parts of it.

This is a chance he’s presented with, one that most likely won’t come around again.

He should go talk to Louis with no expectations. He owes him that much, at least.

He takes a look around and his resolve falters. “I can’t, I have to close up tonight.”

“That’s all taken care of,” she tells him and nods in the direction where Liam and Niall are having a chat by the bar. “He thought of everything.”

Harry nods, swallows hard. He can do this.

After a long hug with his mum and a kiss goodbye, he grabs hi scoat and makes his way past customers and staff to head outside.

The freezing air still hits him like a sledgehammer, his skin cold and aching by the time he’s made it halfway down the street, stepping around puddles and hunching his shoulders against the icy wind.

Once he reaches the underground, he can barely feel his fingers, annoyed with himself when he almost drops his Oyster card and wallet at the same time.

The display monitor lets him know he will only have to wait two minutes, for which he is eternally grateful. He feels like if he stops now, if he loses his momentum, he won’t go through with it at all, sneak back into the club to hide out here.

So instead he keeps moving, blowing warm air over his frozen hands while heading to the opposite end of the platform. The last carriage is closer to his exit at home and Harry has no time to waste.

 

+++

 

Louis is waiting on the steps in front of his apartment.

“Hey,” Harry chokes out.

Louis looks _good_. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, his hair isn’t styled and he’s wearing an oversized jumper and joggers combo, but to Harry, he’s the most beautiful human being he’s ever seen.

And it’s not like he can talk since he’s been wearing his own comfy jumper for days now and his hair had been frizzy this morning and he just couldn’t find it in himself to care, to do something about it, so he’d gone to work in a beanie because it’s not like he’d been doing his rounds on the main floor, anyway.

Louis nods his greeting once before getting up. “Going to let me come inside?”

Harry wants to flinch at the flatness of his tone, like he’s resigned to whatever Harry decides on. Like he would really leave if Harry told him to go.

“Yes,” he says and his voice breaks on that little word, so badly he presses his lips together to keep from saying more.

Louis shuffles behind him and Harry very nearly bursts into tears when he hears the soft, “thank you,” Louis directs at him.

His fingers shake badly but somehow he manages to unlock the door. He wants to do this right, though, every last detail. And so he pushes the door open before stepping back. “After you,” he says and waits for Louis to go inside before following him.

Once he’s got the front door locked and himself peeled out of the coat, Louis is already in the living room, his hands shoved into his pockets to bring his shoulders up around his ears. His eyes are fixed on the DVD player that’s sat in the middle of the couch table. Harry had to dig it out of storage, needed an easy way to play the video from the USB drive on his telly.

“Been watching movies,” Louis asks while picking up the remote.

Harry gets panicky then, quickly stepping forward, intent of taking it from Louis. But by then it’s too late because the telly comes to life. Harry immediately wishes the floor would open him up and swallow him whole, because that’s a paused image of Louis on the screen, sitting with his head bent over his phone. It’s from that night at the club, the first night they hooked up, when Harry danced for him.

“What’s this then,” Louis asks, surprise in his voice. “Been wanking to our porn, have you?”

“No!” Harry says, squeaks, really. “I wouldn’t. I mean I didn’t. I --”

“Hey, hey,” Louis says with a tiny smirk curling the edges of his lips. “Calm down.”

Harry isn’t quite sure what would be weirder, him wanking to that video of them, or what he was actually doing with it. While still trying to come up with an explanation, he hears himself say, “haven’t felt much like wanking, anyway.”

Louis looks at the screen, then back at him. “What have you been doing then?”

“I split the file,” Harry blurts out because somehow having Louis think he’s been wanking to this without asking him makes him feel dirty. “It stops when I come in.”

“What’s the point of it, then?”

Harry takes a deep breath, his voice shaking he says, “I needed to see you.” And god, that sounds even more creepy, he’s going to freak Louis out if he keeps this up.

“But I’m just on my phone.”

He takes a step closer to Louis, almost reaches out but lets his hand fall before they touch. “I’ve _missed_ you.”

Louis looks at him and the sadness etched on his face makes him look older and it very nearly breaks Harry’s heart all over again. “You had me all this time. But you kept pushing me away. This was your doing.”

“I know,” Harry breathes, fresh tears blurring his vision. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Louis looks at him sharply. “Do you still think that?”

“I don’t know,” Harry whispers. “My mum, I mean she said she told everyone.”

“And did she tell you that it doesn’t matter? No one cares what you do for a living, Harry. Least of all me. I never did. It’s not like you deceived me somehow, you told me right from the beginning. I actually gave this whole thing some thought before I decided to do this, and it’s kind of insulting that you apparently thought I couldn’t make that decision, had to take it away from me.”

“Look,” Harry says, his voice gaining traction. If there’s something he learned, it’s that people have very little respect when it comes to people in his line of work. “This was about me too. The effect _my_ presence would have on others. Now granted, I maybe didn’t handle it quite right. But don’t pretend like I took something away from you.”

“But you did!” Louis doesn’t look sad now, not anymore. There’s something sparkling in his eyes, curling his lip into a snarl.

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“Us!” Louis very nearly shouts. “You took _us_ away from me, you fucking arsehole.”

Harry had a reply at the ready, the turn this conversation had taken more invigorating than anything he’s experienced in weeks. But Louis’ words take the wind right out of his sails. “Oh,” he says, understanding dawning. “Oh.”

“Yes, _oh,_ ” Louis agrees, pushing against Harry’s chest. It’s a weak attempt and Harry only staggers back half a step. “I _told_ you I was all in, and you just took that away and then you didn’t even tell me why. You can’t do that, Harry.”

And Harry staggers back when the realisation hits, far worse than when Louis tried to push him. In this case, he hadn’t thought about it from Louis’ point of view, had only tried to protect him. But what he’d done instead was act no better than Darren himself, leaving without an explanation.

Louis’ eyes are shining now as well when he says, “you were the one who told me you knew all about falling fast and hard. The reason why I was never afraid of it, was because I was right there with you. And I thought I’d made it quite clear, but apparently, I didn’t.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. There’s too much to say, and quite possibly nothing would ever be enough. He hadn’t allowed himself to believe it to be true, too afraid he’d get a repeat of his previous relationship. Maybe one day, he’ll find the poetry in the fact that that fear had turned him into the very thing he’d been running from. Not right now, though.

Right now, all he can say is, “I’m sorry.” It sounds earnest and maybe a little surprised.

Louis barks out a laugh and starts crying a second later. “I’m sorry too,” he says before stepping closer and finally, _finally_ slipping his arms around Harry again.

They stand there for a long minute, wrapped up in each other. “Okay,” Louis says when he pulls back, just enough to look at Harry. He wipes at his eyes while Harry gives him a wobbly smile. “Can we agree that we were both idiots?”

“Yes,” Harry replies quickly. He could argue that he was being the bigger idiot, but then this isn’t a competition, isn’t the point of this.

“Good,” Louis says on a weak chuckle. “Yeah, good.” He pulls back, rubbing at his eyes again while looking around Harry’s living room. “It’s not as bad as I thought.”

“What isn’t?” Harry asks, wishing he wouldn’t feel so exhausted right now.

“Niall mentioned that this place was looking a bit… ripe.”

Harry rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, I had to clean up, you know? Because of, uhm. Salt.”

Louis gives him a tiny smile. “Yeah? Had some kitchen mishap, did you?”

Harry shakes his head. After a quick look he steps around Louis to scoop the little bundle off the sofa. He presses it into Louis’ palm. “Louis, meet Salt.”

Louis looks down at the tiny ball of fur in his hands, his face going from confused to surprised to laughing. “Oh my god, the Nutter named her Salt.”

Harry frowns. Surely Louis wouldn’t go so far as to insult his new kitten right in front of her? They watch her stretch in Louis’ hands, Harry noticing only now that he’s still got his hands cupped around Louis’ smaller ones, both cradling the tiny body between them.

He’s not going to make himself feel awkward over this, he’s not. “What do you mean?”

“You got this cat from Niall, didn’t you?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, he dropped her off while I was at work. I came home to her asleep in the cat carrier. And when I called him about it, he told me the other cats were bullying her.”

“He’s a fucking scheming megalomaniac, that’s what he is.”

“Well, I mean that’s maybe a bit harsh, but okay.” It grows quiet then, awkward, and Harry remembers what Louis once told him and says, “Uhm, would you like some tea?”

Louis just shakes his head and carefully places her into Harry’s palm. And Harry doesn’t know why after all this, _that_ makes his heart drop into his stomach.

Louis is digging through his pocket moments later and he pulls out his car key, holds it up triumphantly. “Come on, we’re going to my place.”

And -- what? Harry is bone tired, feels like it’s a feat just holding up the tiny kitten. He’d like nothing more that to fall into his bed and clutch Louis close, push reality back another few hours. But the fluttering in his belly and the ache in his chest at having Louis this close again makes him agreeable and as long as they go together, he can find the reserves somewhere.

“We’re taking Salt along?” he asks in confusion when Louis leads him through his front door and locks up behind him moments later, having just stopped long enough to sling Harry’s coat over his shoulders.

“Oh yes,” Louis says, his voice unreadable. “It’s time for a reunion.”

And then they’re walking again, Harry shielding his kitten from the rain outside by holding her underneath his coat. She’s still sleepy, leaning against his shirt in a sitting position, tiny and trusting.

Louis opens the passenger side door for him, even helps him with the seatbelt because he’s still cradling the kitten in one hand, pressing her against his chest.

She looks so fragile like this, curled up in his hand, her fur in slight disarray from being underneath his coat. He watches her yawn, bright blue eyes momentarily disappearing as she displays her small -- but no less sharp -- set of teeth.

Louis is driving carefully, making sure not to rattle her. He keeps looking over at them whenever he’s at a red light and has a few seconds to spare.

“She’s beautiful.”

Harry beams at him. “I know,” he says, almost whispers, like they’re talking about something else entirely. He strokes his finger over her round little head, watches her press against the touch the same moment the purring starts up again. She blinks her big blue eyes at him, gives him another yawn.

He can’t help but love her. She’s fragile in his hand, her small body no match for his. She needs him, needs his help and for him to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. “She’s only tiny now,” Harry says in a soft voice, gently rubbing under her chin. His throat closes up when he realises he’s no longer talking about the kitten at all. “But she’ll be strong one day. And I’ll help her get there. I’ll watch out for her.”

He chances a look over at Louis. His eyes are shining in such a way that Harry knows he understood, that he wasn’t talking about her, but _them_ , that thing between them, tried saying what they have yet to talk about.

“I know love,” Louis says, reaching over to squeeze his thigh. “We’ll take good care of her.”

Harry almost starts crying again, tears of relief, of hope. Instead he cradles their kitten close to his chest, listens to her purr and and his heartbeat intermingle, happy in the knowledge that they’re both willing to make this work, nurture whatever is still between them into something great.

 

+++

 

In the elevator, Salt starts squirming, clearly awake now and done with sitting still. “I’m not sure she’s going to like your place, Lou. It took days for her to feel comfortable at mine.”

“Oh,” Louis says with a shrug, depositing his keys on the little side table. “I’m sure she’ll find something of comfort here.”

Harry isn’t too sure about that, but since he doesn’t even know where they stand yet, not really, he doesn’t say anything. Salt is squirming in his hand so vigorously that he’s scared he might drop her and he puts her down on the hardwood floor gently.

She immediately goes to inspect the leg of the side table, sniffing it with great interest, rubbing against it moments later.

And then out of nowhere, a grey little fluffball shoots out from under the couch and barrels into her, knocking her right off her feet.

“Uhm, Louis,” he says slowly, watching the two kittens rub their heads together in greeting. “Did you get a cat without me?”

Louis points indignantly at where Salt has curled on her back on the floor, entwined with the grey kitten in some sort of playful, mutual cleaning session. “Double standards, much?”

“Niall gave her to me,” he says, trying not to sound defensive.

“Yes. He gave me one as well. Her name is Pepper, by the way.”

Harry takes that in for just a moment, opening and closing his mouth. “He _wouldn’t_.”

“Apparently, he would.”

The kittens pop to their feet simultaneously, Pepper zooming off to disappear back under the couch, Salt not far behind.

“Would you like some tea,” Louis asks into the suddenly heavy silence.

And Harry can’t help it, the smile exploding on his face. “Yes, please.”

He stands there while Louis makes the tea, feeling oddly exposed in this huge place. But once he’s done, Louis places both mugs on the couch table. He beckons Harry over, grabbing his hand once he’s in reach, his touch familiar and something Harry had so dearly missed. All he can do is squeeze gently and hope Louis won’t let go.

“Did your mum tell you everything? About the charities, I mean,” Louis asks the moment they sit down. He doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand though and he concentrates on that.

“She did. Told me about how they aren’t suffering. Is it true?”

“Yes,” Louis says but amends it with, “not by much, anyway. There’s always a few dickheads, but it’s anyone’s guess as to whether they stopped giving because you own a strip club, or because you’re male.”

“Okay,” Harry says, not knowing what else he should do.

“Yes,” Louis agrees. “It’s all okay. And I want you to stop ignoring me now. Scream and shout at me if you have to, just don’t lock me out. Please. It’s sort of wrong to ignore your boyfriend for almost an entire fortnight.”

“We were broken up,” Harry points out.

“No, we weren’t. We were just being idiots.”

Something flutters in Harry’s chest, something much stronger than hope. “Idiots,” he tries. “Yeah, okay.”

Louis looks at him questioningly. “Are you done being an idiot now? Will you take my calls again, let me in when l show up at your place?”

“Yes,” Harry promises.

“Will you still come to my charity events? As my date?”

This time, it takes longer for the answer to form. “Yes? I mean if you want me to, yes.”

Louis grabs both his hands and squeezes tight. “I always want you, Harry. In every aspect of my life. Always.”

Harry nods, chokes out an emotional yet happy, “okay.”

“Good. That’s -- that’s good. Now I have a confession to make. I always wanted it to be your choice, and maybe asking you via text wasn’t fair. But I told my entire family about us. Half of them knew already, anyway. I told them to tell whoever they liked, that’s how we got your mum involved.” He squeezes Harry’s hands again. “While you know all this, I just wanted to let you know that they might have gone a bit overboard with telling others. I mean I’m reasonably sure that both Fizzy and Lottie tweeted about it more than once. They told simply _everyone_. There won’t be anymore hiding for us.”

Harry watches Louis. Louis, who talks to him like he’s utterly sure of what he’s saying, who’s laying everything down as fact. It’s a front, one Louis has long since perfected, one that lets him take problems into his own hands and meet them head on. It’s a coping mechanism that has become part of his personality, an amazing feat in itself.

He has so much to learn from Louis, has so much to show him as well. He gently cups Louis’ face in his hands, scooting closer before murmuring, “I never wanted to hide you. _Never_. I wanted to protect you, that’s all.”

“I can do that myself, Harry.”

“I know you can, of course. But you should let other people help you.”

Louis raises one eyebrow. “Other people?”

“ _Me_ ,” Harry says slowly, enunciating each letter at length. “You should let _me_ help.”

Louis laughs but there is very little humour to it. “I don’t have a problem with letting people help me, just ask my mum. I do have a problem with you keeping things from me, making decisions behind my back that involve me.”

Harry looks down at his lap. He hadn’t really thought about it like that, too caught up in the emotional aspect of it. He nods slowly. “Okay I -- you’re right.”

Louis nods, grinning softly now. “I’m not always right, you know. You’ll have to keep fighting me, just so I don’t get complacent in my decisions. You just… you have to tell me, yeah?”

Harry nods and smiles, the giddy feeling of relief bubbling up inside of him. He lets that take over, grabs onto Louis and falls back on the couch, Louis right on top of him. He’s smiling as well, that pained look in his eyes slowly dissolving.

They kiss then, tentative at first, muscle memory coming back to guide them through it. Louis nips at his bottom lip and he slides his hands up Louis’ back, desperate to feel the heat of his skin under his palms.

They only stop when Louis starts complaining about a crick in his neck, Harry’s mouth dry and sore from so much kissing.

Louis stands and stretches, flashing Harry a sliver of skin from his tummy. “I’m getting us something to drink. Anything else you need from the kitchen?”

He doesn’t, scoops up the two kittens when they start using the couch as a scratching post.

Louis turns off the light before he comes back and crawls onto the couch, careful not to squish the kittens while he maneuvers himself into a comfortable cuddling position on Harry’s chest.

They watch the city lights outside his huge windows, laughing at the kittens' antics and talking until the early morning hours. Eventually, all three of them fall asleep on his chest, Louis cradling the kittens so they don’t slide off, Harry holding him in turn.

He tries to keep his mind blank, tries not to worry about how differently this might have ended if Louis hadn’t taken action, if Harry hadn’t talked tonight. There are some things that, once broken, can’t be repaired and Harry knows that, understand that, and it makes him all the more grateful that it hadn’t happened to them. They can repair this, they can work this out. It’s not the end for them.

Tomorrow, they’ll both complain about sore muscles and hurting backs, but right now Harry just closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath before slipping into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

+++

 

“So I’ll see you tonight?”

Harry pouts, spreading his thighs on the kitchen barstool and pulling Louis between them. The towel that’s around his hips almost slips to the ground. He ignores it, fist clutched in the front of Louis’ rather nice suit. “Don’t go to work.”

“I have to,” Louis says, taking a sip from Harry’s tea before returning the cup to the counter. “Can’t help that you slept so long. Looked right uncomfortable too.”

“Stay here,” Harry tries again. The towel does slide from his hips then, but judging by Louis’ groan, that’s just working in his favour. “With me.”

“Can’t,” Louis says, his hand trailing down Harry’s side. “Not today.”

Harry pouts some more and at least it gets him thoroughly kissed, Louis’ hands in his still wet hair.

“What’s so important at work, anyway? Thought you could mostly choose your own hours?”

“Mmh, not when I have meetings set up.”

“Meetings,” Harry echoes miserably. He’d hoped to spend today with Louis, still feels a bit fragile after last night. And he’s been rather looking forward to make-up sex as well. “Several? When will you be done?”

“I’m expecting them to run until late. I’ll meet you at the club, how does that sound?”

“Like it’s a long way off,” Harry grumbles.

Louis laughs and Harry wonders what he has to be so damn cheerful about. Louis leans in for a hard kiss then, catching Harry unaware and causing him to clutch Louis’ front or fall off the chair from the sheer force of it.

“I’m interviewing several people today,” Louis tells him once he's thoroughly kissed him. “People to take over parts of my job.”

Harry frowns. “Why?”

“Because,” Louis says with a grin, “I think I should stick mostly to the work I can do from London. Let others fly out to different cities each week.”

Harry’s heart flutters when he asks, “no more trips during the week?”

“Far, far less. So if you want…” he trails off, grinning and stepping back out of Harry’s reach. “I mean only if you _want_ , then you could spend far more time with your official boyfriend.”

“You’re -- you’re doing this for me?”

“Us, love. I’m doing this for _us_. Of course, it’s your choice to take me up on that offer.”

He barrels into Louis moments later, almost taking them both to the ground, hugging him close. “I love spending time with you.”

“Ah,” Louis says, laughing outright now. “That’s settled, then. And before you get weird ideas in that pretty little head of yours, the charities won’t suffer because of it. I won’t stop working, but I’m doing a bit more delegating now.”

“I love you,” Harry mumbles into the fabric of Louis’ suit, hugging him closer still.

“I love you too, Harry.”

It takes him a moment to let go of Louis after that, trailing him right to the elevator and holding it open for him.

“I’ll see you tonight then?”

“Tonight,” Louis promises. He reaches out to pinch Harry’s naked thigh. “Can’t wait.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows while the doors slide shut.

He’d thought being alone in Louis’ flat again might feel awkward, but as it turns out it’s more like coming home. The kittens might help, and he plays with them for half an hour after getting dressed in his clothes from last night.

He pulls a piece of string across the floor and throws one of the many toys Louis has lying around for them to chase after. Eventually he gets interrupted by his phone ringing, but both Salt and Pepper look tired, so he decides he might as well get it.

“Yo, food? I got take out,” comes Niall’s voice over his phone.

“Sure,” Harry says, still dangling the string and watching Pepper practically climb over her sister to get at it. “But you’ll have to come by Louis’.”

“Be there in twenty,” Niall says with no surprise in his voice whatsoever. Well, news certainly travels fast.

He arrives and heads for the kitchen, pulling out plates and cutlery in such a way that Harry has no doubt he’s been here before. He doesn’t say anything about the kittens either, just picks them up one after the other, presumably to give them a quick once-over, make sure they’re fine.

They eat in relative silence, chatting about mundane stuff, mostly Gemma, with whom Niall seems to have started a very active Whatsapp chat. She’s in Barcelona now, staying with friends and enjoying her newly single status. It seems to be agreeing with her.

“You know more about what’s happening with my sister than I do,” Harry grumbles.

“That’s because I’m not as much of a self-absorbed twat as you are.”

And okay, he’s probably right about that.

They clean away the food as they always had before, both of them doing their share. The fact that it’s all happening in Louis’ apartment doesn’t seem to change that.

“D’you want a lift,” Niall asks when everything is cleared away and he’s ready to leave.

“No thanks,” Harry says. “Still have to stop by my place for a change of clothes. I’ll take the tube.”

They say their goodbyes when Niall is already in the elevator. The doors are closing, when Niall’s hand shoots out to stop their progress.

“Oh and Harry,” he starts. There’s a tone in his voice that makes Harry listen closely. Niall doesn’t often get serious, not like this, but he’s learned it’s wise to pay attention when he does. He nods for him to continue. “It’s about Salt and Pepper. Don’t ever separate them again. They belong together.”

“I won’t,” Harry chokes out around the sudden tightness in his throat. He has to blink a few times to get the blurriness out of his vision. “Promise.”

Niall nods, letting go of the elevator doors.

“Oh and Niall,” he says just as they begin to slide shut again. “I love you too, mate. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he still hears. “Same goes for you.”

 

+++

 

It’s a giddy sort of anticipation, waiting for Louis to arrive. He keeps himself busy with work, makes sure to stick his nose into everything again, talk to the guys and sign for shipments himself.

He’d gone home and stood in front of his closet forever, trying to decide what to wear. In the end, he’d gone with the white skinnies and the gold boots again. It fits the theme of the club, and it’s also reminiscent of the first time Louis was there. He’d left the shirt untucked for the tube ride over and it still is now. If he wants Louis to pay him extra attention tonight, he can always still tuck it in.

“We should have a ladies night,” Kieran says the moment he walks in, Cameron still tucked under his arm. “I’ve never made that much in tips.”

Harry laughs, especially at the way Cameron rolls his eyes. “Yeah sure, I’ll think about it.”

“No more moping from you then I see,” Cameron says. “Glad you two worked it out. I still want that double date, though. Like at a nice restaurant. We can go dancing after, if you want. Show the people how it’s done.”

Harry nods happily. “It’s a date. I’ll schedule it so we all have an evening off next week.”

“Ah, the perks of being friends with the boss-man.”

Harry sticks out his tongue at him. He’s got to head up to his office soon, make a dent in the paperwork that’s piled up. He sees Sophia out of the corner of his eye and decides to touch base with her first.

And after that, the first people start trickling in. Whatever else that article had caused, it also clearly increased the amount of customers they get. He can’t remember the last weeknight where they were this packed before ten.

He’s leaning on the bar, chatting to a couple of high rollers that have so far dropped almost double the amount his usual guests do. It’s their first time here and Harry would very, very much like them to come back.

And then he’s distracted, because Louis has just walked in and he’s breathtaking, dressed up but casually so, his trousers rolled up, ankles bare, like the cold London air doesn’t usually have him shivering within seconds. He’s probably cold anyway and Harry needs to go over there right this moment and hug him close until he warms up.

“Will you excuse me for just a moment,” he tells them. He tries to keep the smile off his face, but it’s a losing battle. “I just quickly want to say hi to my boyfriend.”

They gesture for him to go ahead, turning in their seats to watch him cross the room. He doesn’t care, the need to pull Louis in is too overwhelming.

And that’s exactly what he does, followed by a soft kiss. “You look amazing.”

“So do you, love,” Louis says, snuggling closer. Definitely cold, then. “Reminds me of my first evening here.”

“Yes, I thought so, too. If you play your cards right, you’ll even get another lapdance.” Louis’ eyebrow climbs up his forehead. Harry interrupts him before he can say something, no doubt pointed or highly suggestive. “I’m in the middle of schmoozing two guys that have been spending exorbitant amounts of money tonight, want to join me? Just want to let them know about our rates for premium members, and then I have time for you.”

“Sure,” Louis says easily, letting himself be tugged along, but not moving from under Harry’s arm. “Since when do you have a premium membership? I want a premium membership.”

Before Harry can reply they’ve reached the guys, who have surreptitiously been checking Louis out on the way over. Harry can’t really blame them, neither can he stop the proud smile forming on his lips.

They chat for a bit, Louis fitting himself into the conversation seamlessly without taking over, letting Harry do his work.

Once they’re done with the small talk, they watch the guys head upstairs for a private dance because, apparently, they like to share.

Louis grabs Harry’s hand. “Anything else you need to do right now?”

Harry shakes his head, biting his lip at the way Louis’ eyes are trailing down his body. He’s thankful now that he’s decided to tuck in his shirt after all, because Louis’ gaze lingers on his crotch for a long moment.

Then he licks his lips and Harry very nearly groans out loud.

“Sex,” he groans into Louis’ ear, stepping closer so suddenly they’re both staggering. He’s pretty sure no one can hear him, but after weeks of not getting any, he doesn’t really care. “We should have it. Right now.”

He’s used to Louis teasing him at this stage, making him elaborate on what he had in mind or simply giving him an ‘ _oh really’_ expression. But more than two weeks of separation must be enough teasing even for Louis and he just grabs Harry’s hand and pulls him towards the stairs.

They’re through the first open door -- Harry has explained to Louis that a closed door means the room is occupied -- and then he’s pushed right up against it in a bruising kiss.

Louis takes a step back, already toeing off his shoes. “Can you lock that?”

The doors don’t have interior locks, for security purposes, but that’s one of the perks of owning the place. He locks it with the master key before turning back around, his eyes fixing on Louis like some sort of magnet. Clearly that is why it takes him a full minute to really notice where they are and he freezes in his progress towards Louis.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, shrugging out of his jacket. “Don’t tell me you have some moral qualms about us fucking in here, because I remember the first time well enough for that. And look, there’s even a bed.”

Yes, the evil, heart shaped bed from hell. The one that’s caused him nothing but grief since he first bought it. “I hate that bed.”

Louis turns and really looks at it. Harry watches his gaze travel up towards the ceiling. “Oh my _God_ ,” Louis whispers, mouth still hanging open slightly. “That is the tackiest thing I have _ever_ seen.”

Harry nods. “I know. Come on, we can go to my office.” He expects Louis to slip back into his shoes, maybe just pick them up and carry them. It’s a bit sad, really, because while he hates the bed it would have provided a lot more comfort than anything else they’ll find in the club.

“It’s perfect,” Louis says in hushed tones, pulling Harry out of his contemplation rather forcefully. And before he can do much more than frown in confusion, Louis has already launched himself onto it, bouncing gently before falling backwards and pointing up at the ceiling. “Fuck, H. I can’t believe you’ve got a mirrored ceiling above this bed.”

“It was a bad judgement call,” Harry says defensively, taking a tentative step closer, then another. “I should have never bought the bed. The mirrors were there beforehand.”

Louis rolls onto his side and props his head on his hand. “So you bought a heart-shaped bed to place under the mirrored ceiling and you honestly want me to believe you _don’t_ want to fuck on it?”

Harry doesn’t reply. He just walks around the bed and disappears from Louis’ view. He still feels Louis’ eyes on him, because Louis is tracking his every move _through the mirror._ Right.

He bends down and flips the little switch, hoping against all hope that the thing is still working from when they last repaired it. Seconds later, there comes the mechanical sound from underneath the frame, and then, exceptionally slowly, the bed begins to turn.

Louis doesn’t move and neither does Harry, but eventually the bed has turned enough that he can make out Louis’ expression. He hasn’t seen him smile this hard in _ages_.

“Come here,” Louis says through the grin, his voice rough.

And that’s all Harry needs, stumbling forward even before Louis has finished speaking.

Louis pushes him onto his back and makes sure to give him a clear view in the mirror of how he then slides his thigh between Harry’s legs, rolling on top of him slowly. Then his vision is obscured by Louis’ face, still grinning but softer now, leaning in for a slow kiss.

He sighs deeply, a tension falling from him as they kiss languidly, his hands gently scratching up Louis’ back, underneath the black shirt, material collecting around his wrists as he drags his blunt nails over Louis’ shoulder blades.

Louis tilts his head sideways then, lets Harry tuck his face into the side of his neck, mouth against the skin there while he looks up, curiosity getting the best of him.

The room is dimly lit, the music just loud enough to cover any annoying noises, but not loud enough to be intrusive. Even with the slight orange glow from the wall lights, he can make out the darker scratch marks on Louis’ back against his soft skin. Harry's eyes roam over the slightly straining muscles of his back, taught from holding himself up enough to not squish Harry beneath him. Harry wouldn’t even mind.

He watches his own hands flatten and drag up Louis’ back, his fingers splayed as wide as he can. It comes a bit of a shock when he realises that Louis’ back looks small in comparison to his hands, that even one can span almost his entire back with his fingers spread like this.

“You fit so nicely into my hands,” he says. “I forget that sometimes.”

“How do you forget that?” Louis asks, nipping at Harry’s collarbone.

“Because you never seem small to me,” Harry tells him truthfully. “You’re always so animated, always moving, and that masks it. But you are.” He slides his hands further down, right over Louis’ arse, and gives it a good, hard squeeze.

Louis lets out one of those pretty little moans, the ones he is completely helpless from uttering. And then he begins to squirm, his entire body twisting this way and that, rubbing their crotches together and pushing his arse back into Harry’s still-tight grip.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen,” Louis says eventually. He’s trying to sound calm, even sits up like he wasn’t just rubbing off against Harry moments before and Harry loves that so much, the way Louis will always deny himself for so long, right up until the point that he breaks.

They might joke about how Harry likes being teased, but really, they’re both just two sides of the same coin.

“We fit,” he tells Louis while he pulls off his shirt.

“Is this another kink? Like a size kink? You like them small and easy to manhandle, is that it?”

Harry shakes his head and splays his hands over Louis’ naked front instead. Though come to think of it, he isn’t really at all opposed to that. “No, I meant something else but…”

Louis starts unbuckling his trousers next, pushing Harry’s hands away. “But what?”

“But you distracted me,” Harry says softly, waiting just long enough for Louis to unzip his trousers before stuffing his hand down Louis’ pants. Or trying to, at least, only the angle and the tightness of his clothes aren’t really conducive.

He lets out a frustrated sound instead, sitting up enough so he can at least cram his hands down the back of Louis’ trousers and pants, palming his arse.

“Want your mouth on me,” Louis says, mesmerised, thumbing at Harry’s bottom lip and pushing into his grip.

“Yes,” Harry agrees in a whisper because _fuck_ he wants his mouth on Louis too, every inch of him. “Want to eat you out.”

Louis whines, all high-pitched and lovely, shifting back against his hands when Harry squeezes again. “Fuck.” Louis pants. “Yeah, okay. Yes. Get naked and lie down on your back.”

And with that he moves off of Harry and comes to stand next to the bed, quickly shimmying out of his clothes.

And Harry watches as much as possible while quickly getting rid of his own clothes, lifting his hips off the bed to roll down the white material. They get stuck around his ankles because he’s still wearing his boots _goddamnit_ , so he has to avert his gaze to deal with that.

By the time he falls back onto the bed completely nude, Louis is just standing there watching him, naked himself. Naked and hard and with lube in his hand and he looks so good that Harry arches, hips lifting as his back bows under Louis’ burning gaze.

 _Fuck,_ he has missed this and he’s been a complete idiot because they’re clearly made for each other.

That much becomes apparent when Louis climbs on and swings one leg over Harry’s head, in a sixtynine position. It brings Louis’ arse right into his field of vision and Harry can’t help it, has to palm his own cock while Louis adjusts, Harry’s toes curling into the comforter when pleasure shoots through his body at his own touch, at the sight before him.

He’d maybe expected Louis to swat his hand away, but instead Louis just lowers his arse without warning, right over Harry’s face.

He lets go of his cock then and slides both his hands to the small of Louis’ back, lower still to hold him open, stretching his neck for that first lick.

Louis lets out an uncontrolled sound at that first touch, a mix between a whimper and a sigh that has Harry’s cock _aching_ as he leans up for another lick, harder now, tongue pressing more firmly and circling relentlessly.

Louis starts rocking above him, back onto his tongue while moaning uncontrollably.

With the next roll of Louis’ hips Harry points his tongue and digs his face deeper, pushing in while his right hand reaches around for Louis’ cock.

“Harry,” Louis whines, desperately, pushing back more. “Harry, I --”

Louis is grinding onto his face now, no pretense left whatsoever. He’s so focused on his own pleasure that Harry has to time his breathing, make sure he inhales before Louis circles his hips back down, demanding and desperate _._

Harry doesn’t want him to stop, pulls him closer with his free hand while his jaw works, mouth opened wide as he really eats Louis out, the movement of his tongue just as needy as that of Louis’ hips, pushing and grinding while the hand on Louis’ cock does nothing more than provide a tight grip for Louis to fuck into.

And Louis is really riding Harry’s face, frantic, the words he’s trying for stuck in his throat. Then he pushes back hard, smothering Harry, who lets him, swirls his tongue while he starts yanking roughly on Louis’ cock.

When he comes, Harry feels it on his tongue first, then seconds later when come hits his chest. Louis very nearly shouts above him and Harry doesn’t let up, not working his hand or his jaw.

It’s Louis who tugs the hand off his cock, but Harry just uses it to pull him down harder by his hips, stabbing into him deeply, flexing his tongue for maximum effect.

Louis doesn’t stop that, just sits there and lets Harry do as he pleases. Harry switches his grip and sits up, slow enough for Louis to bring his torso down, face resting on Harry’s leg. His arms flex with the tight grip he has on Louis’ hips, enough so he doesn’t slide even when Harry sits all the way up, Louis’ thighs spread wide around his shoulders, his body arched downwards wonderfully.

He bows his head to lick Louis’ rim again, lets his tongue slip lower, right to his balls, only to drag back up again with a firm pressure.

In his upside down position Louis can’t do much more than squirm and pant wetly against Harry’s leg, occasionally rubbing against his hard cock in interesting ways.

It takes him a long moment to catch his breath, to draw enough air into his lungs for a weak, “enough.”

Harry lets up then, kissing his arse and inside of his thighs instead.

He’d planned on letting Louis slide down his front, but really there’s no dignified way of doing that. So after another nip just under Louis’ arse cheek, Harry starts lying back down slowly until he’s flat on his back, Louis still on top of him just like before, only straddling more his chest than his face, his body twitching from all that overstimulation.

Louis is breathing heavily when he takes Harry’s cock in hand. His mouth is so close to it with his cheek nestled on Harry’s thigh, that he can feel every hot breath as Louis starts wanking him slowly.

His grip isn’t tight and his movement isn’t fast, but Harry still arches into the touch, wants more while at the same time being grateful for every soft touch he’s already receiving.

Louis holds his torso up and lets Harry’s cock slide over his tongue, into the wet heat of his mouth and Harry is sobbing almost immediately. Especially when Louis pulls off again, head going back to rest on Harry’s thigh and his hand back around Harry’s cock. Thanks to the added spit, the slide is smoother now, even if Harry still whimpers, wants his mouth again.

“Can you see?”

And it takes Harry forever to get that, to understand that Louis does not mean if he can see his arse -- which he can see, because it’s still right there, parked on his chest.

Instead he looks up at the mirror and sees Louis’ smaller body on top of his, legs straddling his chest and back curving to one side, making sure Harry has a clear view of his hand working his cock.

The languidness from before is leaving Louis’ body and he holds himself with more purpose, making sure Harry gets as much of a show as possible.

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, gaze sliding over every inch of Louis. “I can see.”

And he can, sees Louis’ fingers as he pumps his cock, base to tip, foreskin popping over the head when he’s all the way up, exposing the head when he’s pulling back down.

Louis moves, half sitting up but still making sure to lean his torso off to the side. And Harry watches as Louis wanks him skillfully, watches him moan and arch when Harry runs the tips of his fingers down the length of his back, digging his nails in gently. Feather soft, the touch leaves goosebumps behind, praise falling from Louis’ lips as he grips Harry more firmly.

Louis starts patting down the covers with one hand, holding out the lube to Harry when he finds it. “Whenever you’re ready,” Louis tells him and Harry can _hear_ the grin.

He snatches the lube and gets it open, quickly coating his fingers and trailing them between Louis’ arse cheeks. The moment he pushes one finger in, Louis leans down and slides Harry’s cock between his lips, sucking him down inch by inch.

“Should make you make me come once more before you fuck me,” Louis rasps when he pulls off and Harry lines up the second finger. “Don’t think two extra orgasms for me are too much to ask for two weeks of you being an idiot.”

Harry agrees with him, only he’s not at all sure if he can last that long. Because if he makes Louis come with his fingers now -- and clearly that won’t be anytime soon seeing as he’s not yet fully hard again -- then it’s going to take that much longer for him to recover and come a third time.

And Harry has no doubt Louis would spend half that time bouncing on his cock. So no, he’s not at all sure if he could manage.

Louis goes back to wanking him, cheek resting on his thigh as he moans out, “but _I_ can’t wait that long. Need to feel your cock stretch me.”

Harry bites down onto the back of Louis’ thigh, groans even around that mouthful. But it’s either that or him dissolving into incoherency, begging Louis for just that, for anything really.

He pours more concentration into getting Louis ready, getting him onto his cock. By now Harry knows him well enough to leave his prostate be, especially after coming once already. So he just pushes the lube in deep and spreads his fingers, watching the mesmerising way Louis’ rim gives around even a third one.

He has to stop watching then; both Louis working on his cock in the mirror and his fingers loosening his hole because he’d be about to come otherwise. He latches onto Louis’ skin instead, arguing that another love bite would look really good next to the one already purpling.

It doesn’t take long before the heat between them is too much, before Louis crawls down his body, Harry’s hands on his arse as he reaches back and steadies Harry’s cock, lets the head pop past his rim.

Harry’s thumbs are stroking soothingly, his hands wrapped around Louis’ hips as he starts sinking down, steading Louis while biting down on his lip to keep from coming. The tight heat is driving him crazy and the way Louis is taking him so very slowly makes him want to push his hips up, or pull Louis down, bury himself to the hilt with one hard thrust.

Louis starts circling his hips even before he’s all the way seated, chuckling throatily before saying, “we’re not really making proper use of that mirror at all, are we?”

Harry slides his hand down until he can thumb at Louis’ rim, right where his cock is stretching him wide and he chokes out, “it’s quite the sight, love, don’t worry.”

Louis’ chuckle has Harry groaning, digging his fingers into his skin. It’s clearly not enough for Louis though because he shifts, lies back on Harry’s chest and stretches his legs alongside Harry’s.

The movement drives Harry’s cock in all the way and it wrenches a choked out sob from Louis.

Worry fills him, because they haven’t fucked in a while and that sound wasn’t all pleasure. He should have used more lube, stretched him out more, done _something_. All he can do now is push back Louis’ fringe from his clammy forehead and ask softly, “okay?”

“Yeah.” Louis’ chuckle turns into a whine as he rolls his hips. “Love every last inch of you.”

He kind of wants to laugh at that, but Louis twists on his chest, guides his head until they’re kissing, slightly uncomfortable but well worth the effort.

Louis moves slow at first, Harry’s tongue still in his mouth and cock deep in his arse.

He pulls back, panting, nudging Harry’s cheek with his nose. “Time to look up now.”

Harry does and Louis watches him instead, watches him groan at the sight of Louis lying on top of him, feet planted flat on the bed and thighs spread wide, his cock lying against the tanned skin of his belly while he circles his hips over and over again.

Harry tilts his hips just in time, driving in deeper and hearing Louis moan at that.

He snaps his eyes open, unsure when they slipped shut. But he remembers what he’s missing, watches them in the mirror instead, like some weird porn. Only it’s way hotter, the feedback loop driving him insane.

“Feel, feel so. Good,” Louis sobs out when their gazes lock. Harry bites his shoulder, never once looking away from Louis’ eyes in the mirror.

And it does feel amazing, fucking fantastic and Harry can’t get enough, spreads his legs and whines, fingers of one hand gently petting Louis’ nipples while the other rubs down the inside of Louis’ thigh.

“Are you recording this?”

Harry can’t help it, bucks into him, his fingers digging into Louis’ skin as he pushes deep again and again, feeling wild from the sight alone, from the clench of Louis’ arse around his dick, the way he looks almost vulnerable writhing on his back like that.

He attaches his lips to Louis’ neck, sucking hard. “All the rooms get recorded.”

“Gonna have…,” Louis arches, hips still circling while he drives Harry’s cock in over and over again, “gonna have quite the collection, won’t we? And you’ve got that telly set up all nice at your place…”

“Louis,” Harry warns. He’s turned on enough as it is, he doesn’t need the visuals of them both home on his couch, watching a video of this, of Louis writhing on his back like this.

Louis’ body is flushed, a slight sheen of sweat making his skin glisten, his nipples hard, his cock even more so. Harry’s hands look huge on his hips and he watches them slide over Louis’ tummy and thighs, up his chest, all while fucking into him with increasingly desperate thrusts that jar Louis, wrench groans from him the likes of which Harry has never heard before.

“Don’t stop,” Louis all but whispers between breaths. “Please, don’t stop,” followed by a slurred, “‘s just right. _Please._ ”

And then he switches from moaning to pleading on every other thrust, incoherent, as he reaches down to palm his own cock.

“I won’t,” Harry promises fiercely, his eyes trained on Louis through the mirror as he clenches his teeth in order to keep that promise. Louis’ whole body his shaking, shuddering, as he writhes on top of him, all semblance of control gone.

At this point Harry is just trying to hold back his own orgasm while fucking Louis in just the way he asked him to, hard, deep little jabs that drive his cock in all the way. The moment Louis starts clenching around him he knows he’s reached his goal, but he doesn’t let up even when Louis arches, come shooting all the way up his chest.

Only then does Harry let go as well, clamping down on Louis’ hips as he ruts up into him a couple of times before his orgasm hits. He can feel it expanding, feels it stretch out from his core to his limbs, like an elastic band. It snaps eventually, wave after wave of pleasure erupting inside him, his legs twitching and back bowing while he pumps his come deep into Louis’ body.

Louis doesn’t move, so for the longest time, neither does Harry. He just cradles him close and lays open-mouthed kisses on all the skin he can reach.

Eventually, he gently guides Louis onto the bed, makes sure he’s comfortable while propping himself up next to him, smiling sweetly while trailing his fingers over his sweaty skin. Louis’ eyelids are drooping and there’s this satisfied smile on his face that Harry loves so much.

Louis’ hand is curled languidly next to his softening cock, the come on his belly drying. It’s far less than it would be, but then it was his second orgasm.

That train of thought just reminds Harry of what Louis said, about Harry owing him at least two extra orgasms for the weeks apart. The moment the idea forms he wants nothing more than to make Louis come again. He’s exhausted and sleepy, already fucked out as it is but now that the idea has gripped him, he needs to know what Louis looks like when he comes three times in a row.

He trails his fingers down Louis’ skin and slips them between his thighs. Harry’s come has already started dripping out and it makes the slide of two of his fingers ridiculously easy.

Louis’ eyes snap open and he reaches down to weakly clamp Harry’s wrist in his grip. Harry stops pushing deeper, but doesn’t pull his fingers free.

“What’re you doin’?” Louis slurs. “You know I don’t like that.”

“You told me you don’t like it because it turns you on again.”

“Yeah?”

Harry kisses him then, delighted in the way Louis barely responds because he’s just _that_ fucked out. “You said I owed you two orgasms. I’m just settling that score.”

“Harry,” Louis whines, shifting until Harry feels more of his come drip out besides his lax fingers. “‘M tired.”

“You don’t have to move a muscle,” he tells Louis, giving him gentle pecks on the lips. “Just lie there and look pretty. And you’ve already got that down, anyway.”

Louis wines, a desperate sound wrenched from deep inside his chest as he looks at Harry with wide-blown pupils.

And then he removes his hand from Harry’s wrist.

Harry smirks, victorious, and crooks his fingers.

 

+++

 

A couple of weeks later, they’re both at a charity event.

Harry is there in the very official capacity of being Louis’ date. Every time Louis goes out of his way to introduce him as his boyfriend or partner, a feeling of contentment settles in Harry’s chest.

If he’d ever thought it would be like this, he’d have agreed to making their relationship public about five minutes after the fact.

They don’t tell people about his job, of course they don’t. A lot of them already know, give him sideways looks when he’s introduced, but that just makes Louis squeeze his hand tighter.

And so, all in all, he doesn’t really mind.

Right up until he’s introduced to Mr. Griffiths. It gets a bit awkward then, seeing as Griffiths is one of those people that visits the club once a month, like clockwork. He _always_ gets champagne access, has three drinks at the bar which aren’t included in that price before selecting one of their smaller guys, usually Cameron but lately also Justin, for a private dance.

Any hope that he might not recognise Harry flies right out of the window when Louis is done with the introductions and their eyes meet. Right.

Harry collects himself and greets his wife -- his _wife_ \-- first before shaking his hand.

“Styles,” Griffiths says in a contemplative tone, one edged with razor blades. “Hmm, Styles, where have I heard that name before. Any relation to Anne?”

Right, okay, so apparently they aren’t pulling the punches.

“Yes,” Harry says easily. Something in his tone has Louis giving him a quick look. “Though she hasn’t gone by the name Styles for some time now.”

“Yes, yes,” Griffiths says and he’s staring at Harry like he’s trying to drive home a point. By doing what exactly? Bullying him into silence by dragging his mum into this? “I heard something to that effect.”

“So,” Louis says when the silence between them stretches. “Are you having a good evening so far?”

“It’s a lovely event,” Mrs. Griffiths assures him when her husband can’t do much more than grunt. “It’s so good to see you again, we missed you up in Leeds two weeks ago.”

“Oh, you know how it is. Harry’s work is based here in London, I don’t like leaving him alone for too long,” Louis says with a conspiratorial wink. “Never know what he might get up to.”

Apparently, this is funny, because Griffiths gives a derisive laugh along with a few choice words muttered under his breath. He doesn’t need to say what he’s thinking, because Harry can read it in his body language well enough. He’s accusing Harry of sleeping around the moment Louis heads out, like somehow anyone working at a strip club can’t help themselves.

Unlike him of course, who is a repressed homosexual at best, or a philandering husband at worst. Harry grits his teeth; it’s probably a mixture of both.

He’s just about to open his mouth and give a thinly veiled speech on his views of fidelity when Griffiths interrupts, like he’s afraid Harry will out him right there on the spot. “Well, this was nice, boys, but if you’d excuse us, we’ll need to move on now. I’ve spotted an old friend of mine.”

His wife looks about as confused as Louis when Griffiths pulls her away.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was about?”

“That,” Harry says, still trying to unclench his teeth, “was a homophobe and an arsehole all rolled into one.”

“What was all that about your mum?”

“Oh, I reckon it was a warning. Just in case I got it in my head to let his wife know that he frequents my club regularly. Or should I say like clockwork, because that man is a machine when it comes to his routine, which makes him all the more creepy, if you ask me.”

Louis looks into the direction they left, a deep frown on his face. Then he takes Harry’s hand and says, “come on. We should go check how much they donated.”

The reason for this only becomes apparent to Harry when one of the staff hands Louis a ledger and he scans it before tapping the paper twice. “Here, look.”

Harry does, his eyes travelling from the surname to the number carefully written at the end of the line. “That’s less than he spends on a single visit to the club,” he says in disbelief.

“Are you really surprised?”

And no, Harry isn’t. Griffiths is just the kind of man to spend more on indulging himself in secret than helping out people with leukemia.

“You know what,” Harry says in tone of voice he doesn’t often use. “I think I should talk to him again. Without his wife there.”

Louis doesn’t question him, which to Harry’s current mind is just more proof of why they are meant to be.

 

+++

 

Harry is leading him around the dancefloor and it’s nice, lovely. The fact that Louis’ skin has been itching for ten minutes now because he really, _really_ wants to know how his conversation went is something else entirely.

“So,” he says, giving Harry’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “What did you tell him?”

“Just offered him an upgrade,” Harry says, his smile wide and utterly fake.

“Oh?”

“Yes. He’s now the proud owner of a premium membership. And as you know, we don’t give those out to just anyone.” Harry’s hand at the small of Louis’ back suddenly feels possessive when he spreads his fingers wide and pulls him just that tiny bit closer. “Told him he could clearly use that twenty percent discount.”

Louis lets his right eyebrow climb up his forehead. “Did you, now?”

“Yes. Informed him that, seeing as he can hardly donate any money to a charity at all, and he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to give up on his monthly indulgence, that would be the best way.”

They sway to the music, Louis forgetting everyone around them. And really, right now all he wants to focus on is Harry. That had been his default for a long time and it’s both scary and amazing all at once. “He’s just going to go to another strip club.”

“Ah,” Harry says with a triumphant tone in his voice. “Trust me, I know the owner of each and every gay strip club in town. We sometimes meet for lunch. You can come next time, if you’d like, they’d love you.”

Of course he knows them and of course they meet up, Louis thinks rather wryly to himself, trying to hide his proud smile from Harry.

“And I told him that as well. He got a bit green at that point. Then I mentioned that, since he now has such a sweet deal on his monthly secret, he could maybe reconsider the amounts he donates.”

“A lot of people just come here for the good press and donate just a little, you can’t really change that.”

“Oh, I know. And I don’t want to. But this twat? He really had it coming. And anyway, he agreed. Apparently, he already increased his donation for tonight.”

“He did, tripled the amount.” Louis smiles up at him. “But, love, you can’t just blackmail anyone because they’re an arsehole.”

“Of course not,” Harry says, looking affronted. “I mean the fact that he was a customer was dumb luck. And I only mentioned his wife once, maybe twice while we talked. Suggested he should maybe come clean. I didn’t, like, threaten him.”

Louis buries his face against Harry’s chest and tries really hard not to laugh. His shoulders start shaking first, though, and Harry stops their dancing to scowl down at him.

“I wouldn’t, Louis!”

Louis, still laughing, pats his chest. “I know, love. Everyone who knows you is aware of that, too. It’s just that, Griffiths doesn’t count among those. He might just think you really would.”

“Yes, well,” Harry says a test grumpily. “Maybe he _should_ start feeling like the scumbag he really is. And he fucking implied I’d cheat on you!”

Louis can’t help it, laughs some more before pulling Harry down for a kiss. “Heaven forbid he’d sully your character.”

“No, Lou, I wouldn’t -- I couldn’t.”

“Oh, I know that. I’m just a bit surprised at your ruthlessness.”

“It wasn’t right, what he was doing. He doesn’t donate according to what he can afford and then he tried to drag my mum, and you, into it to shut me up.”

Before Louis can calm him down, they’re interrupted by an apologetic middle-aged couple.

“Oh, good to see you,” Louis says after stopping their dance. “Harry, this is Lisa and Bob Hopkin, and according to our family tree, we’re distantly related.”

“Very distantly,” Lisa says with a wink. “We’re on that part of the tree that got disowned. Now it’s a family curse. Anyway, sorry for interrupting you, but we didn’t get a chance all evening and we wanted to see how you’re doing before we leave.”

“Ah,” Louis says knowingly while glancing at his watch. “Only got the ‘sitter until ten, then?”

“It’s a nightmare,” Bob says. “Since the twins started talking it’s almost impossible to get them to bed. We’ve even thought of putting them in separate bedrooms, but that would probably end in tears.”

“But what about you?” Lisa interrupts, smiling at Harry. “Who’s your date?”

Louis smiles, his hand coming to rest on Harry’s hip. “My boyfriend,” he says proudly. “Harry Styles.”

“Oh, finally,” Lisa says with a little eye roll. “Your mum was getting worried. It’s good to meet you, Harry.”

They shake hands and chat a bit, Harry mostly enquiring about the twins which they are more than willing to talk about. Eventually the question comes, and it still makes him freeze up when Bob asks what Harry does for a living.

And Harry gives him a quick look, and boldened by the small nod Louis sends him, he says, “I own a club, Halo. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“Don’t think I have,” Bob says, but Louis almost doesn’t hear because he’s too busy beaming at Harry.

For his part, Harry looks only a little flustered, clutching Louis’ hand but still standing tall.

“So less trips for you, Louis? I think your mum mentioned it the last time she came over for tea.”

“Oh, yes,” Louis says, just about managing to tear his eyes away from Harry’s dimpled smile. “Wanted to spend more time with this one.”

Lisa practically coos at them before Bob reminds her they need to get home.

After they’ve said their goodbyes and Louis turns back into Harry’s front so they can dance some more, Harry falls into a contemplative silence.

“Are you missing your trips? The weekly flights, the change of scenery, the excitement?”

He does miss parts of it, sure. But living out of his suitcase, the constant packing and unpacking, _that_ he doesn’t miss. And he’s got Harry instead, got him in his bed every night. That well makes up for any loss he might be feeling.

He just shrugs, biting his lip in contemplation. “Well, I mean I’m a bit strapped for cash, but the rest is fine.”

“Oh.” Harry is utterly incapable of holding back his chuckle. “Burnt through your trust fund, have you?”

Louis nods sadly. “It’s okay, I have a plan. I know this guy, real pretty, I like him. He can probably get me a job at his strip club.”

“Is that right?”

Louis widens his eyes, going for innocent. “How hard can it be? Taking off your clothes and dancing, I mean, I’m good at both.”

Harry affectionately brushes as strand of hair out of Louis’ face. “That guy you’re talking about? I think he only wants private dances.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says before giving Louis a sweet kiss, just a press of lips on lips.

“Tonight then,” Louis whispers against his mouth, hand squeezing Harry’s. “I’ll even let you choose the music.”

**Author's Note:**

> -> [tumblr post](http://karamelised.tumblr.com/post/142642699577/fic-wings-to-break-your-fall-written-by)
> 
> ETA 5th June: I'd really love to hear which parts of the fic worked for you and which didn't, which you wished would have been there and which could have been omitted. basically what I should change if I were to rewrite this <3


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